Untitled

talking. cut in wrist. shallow.
fever this time
the sting of the cut
door squeaks
on my back as my
friends come in
oh what hell a week
can be
I tell them
work is for chumps
they say
rejoice
for tomorrow
is Friday

hey mr. poet man
extraordinaire etc etc.
oh don’t call me that
don’t associate me
with poetry

just love me