today i pretended i am a john keats again. just without the poetry and with a thinner hairline.

my lungs though are not the problem. waking up it still feels like i’ve smoked to much, it’s just wistful thinking on my part. bring me a marathon, i’ll sprint for you until i’ve lost control of my bowels. it is just this nose bleed that won’t stop.

can’t stop?

won’t stop?

will not. want not. have not.

surely, soon enough my iron will drop too low and i’ll fag out – sputtering with darkspots dimming the lamp a touch when i rise much too quick. swimming back down to the couch, placing ice on the back of my neck.

at work, there are spots everywhere and i’ve blotted and dabbed my way through an entire box of tissues. we laugh and play it off saying “i’ve become a woman.” laughing. just going crazy until the roof is blown. secretly i suck away at these halls cough drops for the added vitamin C. we laugh and play it off saying “i just need a good fuck.”

unless i can fuck myself epstein bar syndrome, fuck myself to anemia, and fuck myself tuberculosis….

i dream that the extra ascorbic acid will cause me to process too much iron from the suppliments and push me under… or was it over? i guess it doesn’t matter.

giant shifts in the planet upturn the graves of our dead en masse. they get up. they walk around. we all blend right in. my sinuses pouring red corn syrup out of my face like a heavy drip IV.

“if i was a black bear i’d hibernate all the through the year.”