Ancient Egyptians spent their lifetimes
preparing for their deaths. My days
consist of blowjobs in back rooms,
sneaking off and writing on
my ass with permanent marker,
secondhand cigarettes and perky boobs,
a CD on repeat, a cup of tea.
It’s a series of unbalanced
equations, piling sugar on one side
but still getting caked with mud.
Shock myself into a scream.
Tie the pink streaks in the sky
like a noose, like a marionette’s master.
Conquered by blood loss
and electric impulses
in my fingers, I relent.
Sarah Marchant is a St. Louis poet who organizes her dreams in her sleep and struggles with being fully present. Keep up with her work on Twitter.
Image by Chloe Henderson.