High in the low wold
Reading Neizsche
out loud; old friends’
morbid teacher

Read Nietzsche; Sweat
in the harsh spring sun
Macabre teacher
Neath my thumb and tongue

I stand in the shower, smiling, alone

Though I am exhausted my pride is untouchable

fear scented sweat and cold cigarette smoke

spiral out of the drain, crawling back up my legs

to be mixed with a unknown stranger's soap

My soft leather jacket, my shoes, and my jeans,

fit themselves wet to my skin like a peel

as the water hits steaming, I turn it to cold

grinning anxiously back into sunken eyeholes

Before cracking the door to a house I don't know to

Look;
No heart inside my chest,
Open hole to
Aorta pumping
uncut hope
Onto everyone I touch
But it’s better, I know,
Cause when I had a heart
it was bitter and cold