November

Maybe I need eternal sleep,

Or, maybe I am just too weak.

 

I like to be alone.

Decomposing their bones.

 

 

Steel toed boots in November sun,

Fist fights, pity sex, and dad’s gun.

Hold your last breath,

Distracted death.

 

Staving and sick?

Take your pick.

I’m having a blast,

I’m too cool at last.