Prolific Any Things

Prolific Any Things

My veins now come
undone in the
heart of August
and I’m bleeding all my
prolific nothings on
the carpet
trying to entwine designs
of my own existence
in the soft threads.

it’s an extascy in my throat,
and the moans and grunts and
flirtatious any things
that ooze from my mouth are
finally bullet proof
and the drawings from my blood
bear a strong resemblance to
whatever comes to your mind
when I say the word
loneliness.
You love me here, don’t you?
even if you can’t
admit it, you do
my blood will taste
so good
when mixed with salt
and mutual insanity

in-
sanity
is what drove me
here, and
insanity is what makes you
smile and snap
your schizophrenic fingers

If there was ever such a thing
as a good burn
this surely must be it, because
no matter how much
blood is spilled I know
there is much more to come.
and it tickles me for a
chance to get out and
in your stomach.
it’s a daily addiction
a daily battle
and a daily catharsis.  I know
my life would be unending without
this unending stream of blood
so I make mince meat
of this carpet
and make myself
look so goddamn foolish
while I sing along to
the sound of
my veins emptying
because most people live with
their blood, trapped in a
never ending cycle of
loneliness, but I lose
my blood, my everything, in the
hopes that I can loose my
forgotten no things as well
and as god permits
I can be filled with
more subtle demons
and less desperate blood.