teaching people to gain
joy from my
misery
(not joy, but entertainment.. value of some sort)

is something that i wish i didnt have to do
to expressmyselfcorrectly

but here i am writing another fucking
poem
even though i hate this

i hate waht im doing
to you
to me
to p much all of it

i keep writing out my feelings and heart
and every time it comes out more and more dirty

it comes out like a rusted pipe at a campsite
filtering the water through paper towels the way leif taught me
the stark white of the towel is stained red
with oxidized pipe residue

i cant drink that shit
but i have to,
at this point in the night,
so i will, but i know i shouldnt

im parched, and as i drink, i drain all the
barely filtered water

i still need more

drinking from the rusted tap, i think to myself
i need
to stop
i need somebody to stop me
because i wont stop myself

as i drink it feels so good, but every swallow
my throat gets drier
my eyes tear up
my knees can barely support this tomb

i cant stop drinking from the faucet

like adam from the tree

except i dont have an eve to pin my bullshit on

and adam had good Fuckin shit on that fucking tree fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck

i need to stop
as the water
rolls down my
chin