my own private apocalypse
how does the unconscious know?
how does it eviscerate the scrim?
you know that ultra thin veneer of:
hey everything’s okay i’m gonna live
happilyeverafter my rotting roof won’t cave in
though my yellow mould covered house is palliative
even my tv shows have descended from hi-art into
sex+blood+drugs the hyperstylization of bare ass
+goodhair on a drool worthy fool
(but he went to Harvard ape!)
last night’s dream so real the horror oh the horror
minutiae of mephistopheles the kind where u instantly know
you’re never going to unknow
apocalyptic bloodcurdle renders Cormac’s The Road childsplay
no wonder u spent your waking dayafter in ruin +almost
beat your covidridden mother to a fine pulp queen of manip
brainfog my asss
with my scrim in tatters +husband #3 drinking beers in sweaty
manrooms it is time to build alliances with kindstrangers people
who actually want to see me +a MAID doctor or two
FALL 2020 ..jon bernthal is dead to me..