(dis)illusion

and i want to feel useful
and i want to feel used,
crash hard into your skinmusclesbones,
count my bruises like blessings,
and taste the wicked sting of nicotine on your mouth.

kiss away the question of whowhatwhy
and swallow down the cure
before the twitch of the second hand
turns chariots and splendor into pumpkins and rags,
illusory glamour’s fading embers,
heavy drags on my last cigarette
that burned out between my teeth.

all i’m asking is to dance
next to the cloak of flesh shriveling
in the starlight, to burn away
the idle cells that have never felt
nothing so acutely,
to abscond for an hour
into an erethism of scarlet mouths
and bodies born to sin.

and the analeptic’s wearing off
like we knew it would
and the second hand isn’t waiting
for anyone. philosophies foregone
in the name of bloodstains and revelry
slink back into view.
bar signs and billboards
like neon acolytes
on the sad crawl home,

this night wrapped in cellophane
and thrown into the river half-alive.

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