februaryy:

from Suicide Mountian
by Matt Suss

I don’t give a fuck. I talk to unicorns.
I talk to the dead for a very long time.
Someone give me your orange juice.
We do whatever the fuck we want.
Prop open the door with your pregnant gold retriever.
Some people can’t touch glitter without getting cut.
Smoke dust. Hail Satan.
I’m a spaceman tethered to the mother
ship, tripping on my minor depression.
My costume is my brain eating itself.
Some nights I can’t get Halloween enough.
To the points on the globe, I say next war, next war.
I keep the ghosts of birds in my breathing.
This is my body. This is the end. I’m going in.