literature

lungburning

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Literature Text

you get the lungburning after midnight
and you're dying to be demeaned,
leaning up against the window and
breathing like you wish to inhale, to
swallow, and you've choked into your
stomach things other men would loathe,
and you have this bruise on

your thigh: you're trying to forget that
thigh, with a skinny scar and the bad
memories, recalling purple colors;
like that man said, you were easy, and
like that man said, you have thin legs and

a wandering mind: you tap the glass and
think about the zoo, except you realize
you're the one encased in something smaller
and the world could look in on you, but
they wouldn't care to, and you're dying

to be humiliated: you're getting the feeling
you don't deserve any of this, the thought
you don't deserve any of this, the
persistent nag you don't deserve
any of this and the lungburning,
stomachturning, ribcrushing, bloody—

you're dying to be squandered, to be wasted,
to be worthless, and it feels better to be nothing—
sometimes, it feels better to be less than because
you're nothing, and you're nothing, and you're

touching the glass, lungburning, nothing.
.
© 2012 - 2024 glossolalias
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