Death by Goldfish
I let it ferment in my mind, churned it over
like the stomach digests its contents
and it still left the rotten, sour taste of injustice in my mouth.
After a long run, after the passing of that nauseous feeling
of being simultaneously hungry and thirsty, needing sustenance,
after that I brooded. I brooded and I discovered nothing.
Nothing except that
dust bunnies are breeding like rabbits in my room.
I hate cleaning. I hate erasing those remnants of his presence.
I’d rather sleep in dirty sheets,
finding comfort from his dead skin cells.
I am tasting gun metal in my mouth
and I like the taste. I am losing faith
in the human race. It seems we are all racing to be human
and no one is winning. Should I be concerned?
Should I hate myself for hating others?
I think we are all devolving into apes
and it makes me ashamed. Makes me ashamed
that I have to identify myself as human,
even to a housefly.
I wish I could just shed my skin,
crawl into a cocoon,
or swallow a goldfish.