Bedbugs XXX

Bedbugs XXX


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My soul and frightfully diminished ambition are dissolved
into bits smaller than my parent’s generation. Empty-headed
platitudes are what the doctors ask me to carve into the
underside of my subdermal subconscious scratched like sandpaper
that itches when you think; wolf in the bleached forest is easy
to discover, uncover and simply find as long as the portrait is
painted and primed for creativity. Hopefully someone will
come along and paint it. Pulling color from the leaves, I don’t
care if that’s the last result as long as the result is ART.
Thumping bass in my head suggests crainial implants
from the docs or simply our slothful soundtrack we work
our lives to. Don’t make me care, they beg. It would take
away a lot of martini time! Silk under me is what I miss,
specifically the person who filled it. One more time is yearned for
now that I’ve built my own dungeon. The doctors do promise
it is safer there…knowing my own mind, best to leave this
one alone.



Next week’s seven phrases/groups of words.

-the cheering is dying down
-abuse of monochromatic
-turn out that light!
-little girl hears it splashing in alley puddles
-color was invented by them
-what is the reason for
-pain that comes in a box is better.

-Adam