Customary Impurity

I climbed over the tracks

I climbed over the fence to our cemetary

This is our cemetary

High on PCP knuckle deep in that little is left of me

Tears stream down my face and I whimper on your grave straddling your grave

The chill penetrates but stimulates and fills me

A train rolls passed and shakes the corpses in their caskets drowning out my coarse

and hungry howl cum while I cut myself and then I fall to sleep visions of your sunken eyes

and purple lips between my swollen thigs eating at the better part of me.