Eight is just infinity,

Flipped on its side

And infinity is just an

Eight, tripped over on the ride.

It's her birthday today -

Maybe one of her last

That was reason enough for today

To hold on for one more

Because how shitty

Of a birthday,

Maybe your last,

Is it,

When your granddaughter's

Gone and leapt from a bridge,

Without so much as a happy birthday

Card or

Call.  

When I fall,

It had better be,

Into you arms,

Safely, securely,

Tightly.  

Boredom

I would run to my mother's room,

Where she lay in her bed,

Reading another smutty book

Some typical hunky man

Giving it to some cock hungry bitch.

I would report my boredom

And she would inevitably reply

That only those who were boring

Become bored.

The idea of being a boring person

Disgusted me,

So I will rarely say,

That I am bored. 

Managing to not be bored

Can be a difficult thing

In a world of shimmering lack luster

So after hours of reading

Hours of solitaire

Some wins, some losses

Losing interest in music

Despising the emptiness

Of the over information

Spewing forth from the internet

Smoking cigarette after needless

Cigarette, down to the filter;

Not because I need it,

Because I need it,

I decide that the rest of

My second pot of coffee

Can wait until morning,

My first cup stale, but ready

Ready and waiting. 

I draw a bath,

Decrease the ratio

Of hot to cold,

And I sit, quiet

And I ruminate,

And I marinate,

Squeeze a little shampoo

Into my wrinkled palm

It's pink,

And I wonder why.

Because I am a woman

And women are to like the color

Because it is the color of their pussies

Against the dark of the still

Bathroom night,

An albino spider crawls

Up and down again

In the streetlight

That is impeded by

Frosted glass

I start to think of

Grover.

Furry lovable old Grover.

The monster at the end of the book

The monster we're all approaching,

That we can't stop going towards,

That is closer with every step,

Every turn of the page,

That awaits at the end

Furry lovable and old

But a monster nonetheless

And monster's are meant to be terrifying. 

Take the bus

To get away from her

It runs late

Into the night

I don't get off at any of the stops

Along the way,

Just sit and ride

Sit at the back,

With no long awkward stares

From the driver,

And I sit and just read,

For hours,

And then a woman sits beside me

She looks like someone's grandmother

But she smells like stinking

Old piss. 

The girl had an awful,

Fat mouth.

And garbage,

Garbage and air

Flowed from her ugly lips

She didn't even know she

Had such a putrid, fat, little mouth

She never would,

But always would have. 

She would grow into a woman

With that same fat, disgusting mouth

Yargling out filth,

Never saying a word with any worth

A woman with an awful, fat, mouth. 

Face melting

Dripping slowly

To the ground

Around your neck

Lining your hoodie

A puddle of

Beauty

Forming at your

Fabulous feet

I see your tendons

Snapping

Like stretched

Rubber bands

Muscles bending

Loosening in

Spaghetti strands

Flapping against you

Bone disintegrating

Like sand rushing

Through an hourglass