and me fallen, which is the worst thing that could happen
to a man like you but better; with the weight of everything
on my shoulders.
I’m like you, as a man resembles another,
fly, a flower…etc – from behind: I have
eyes, your personality…etc
fixed for good, nailed: I get
dark joy at our suffering, which isn’t
your fault or mine,
bitch. Degenerate. You could try walk
my heels, you know,
study the multitudinous forms that flourish
in the bower, the fish bowl you’d disown
if you could.
See what happens when I tune in/
turn on for so long, stuffed
in my sodden hole.
I shut my eyes to my situation;
all the better to enjoy you,
the filth of yr creation.