a steaming pile of shit
runny and floating around
in yellow urine water
you got no choice
but to reach in
grab a handful of it
rub it on your cheeks and forehead
war paint
made from the last meal you ate
fatty fast food is poison
it runs quickly through your colon
comes out the backend
like liquid
separated from all the boring stuff
uncomfortable and impossible
it's the fat roasting on the fire
the crispy skin of the chicken
keep the white-meat thigh
pass the drumstick
I wanna hear
only about sex
only about violence
only about drugs
nothing less then grotesque
nothing less then honest
everything else is…
wake up by an alarm clock
drag yourself out of bed
shower
shave
take your vitamins
eat a donut
drink a coffee
find your way to work
clock in
count down
4 hours till lunch break
pride your sorry self
on finding the best
turkey sandwich
on whole wheat
in town
smoke no less
then 2 cigarettes
clock back in
count down
4 hours till quitting time
dinner with yourself
a series of bad sitcoms
a book on World War II
half a bottle of day old white wine
no less then 5 cigarettes before bed
a phone conversation with your mom
when you're just too goddamn tired for
a phone conversation with your mom
there is no hope
of getting any sleep
there is never any hope
of getting any sleep
lay awake
spooning a feather pillow
contemplating the opposite sex
the women you've been with
masturbate
in the middle of this lonely night
while trolling the internet
for just the right porn
soil a carefully placed paper towel
clog up the toilet
trying to flush it down
battle a toilet-water flood
when you just want to be asleep
come close to breaking your neck
on a slippery tile floor
for sure your lonely, dead body
would go for weeks unnoticed
I wanna throw the fat on the fire
and watch the look on your face
as you take in the sweet smell of it all
I am addicted to porn
I am a voyeur
I get off on watching naked women
fucking strange guys
blow job scenes really turn me on
there's nothing better then a good cum-shot
work it out with your hands, sweetheart
work it out with your mouth, sweet heart
sweetheart, do you think it'd be okay
if I finished all over your face
no more bottles of wine
turning my teeth purple
no more cigarettes
burning holes in my ashtray
no more sleeping in
til the afternoon
no more pornographic DVDs
no more calls
to phone sex lines
no more strip clubs
no more late night women
over bottles of
domestic beer
no more making love
without a condom
penetrating a drunken woman
whose name
I've not bothered to learn
no more flat screen television set
no more high speed internet
no more Sirius satellite radio
no more 30 gig ipod
filled to capacity
with stolen music
no more $500 navigation system
I'll learn to read a map
no more laptop computer
no more wireless card
no more 24 ounce
Styrofoam cup
filled with
convenience store coffee
lots of cream
lots of sugar
no more cheeseburgers
no more donuts
no more not exercising
no more gaining weight
no more getting winded
just walking up the steps
to my apartment
no more forgetting to take
my vitamins
no more putting off
my doctor's visits
no more excuses
no more getting up early for work
no more trips to the bank
no more paychecks to deposit
no more taxes to pay
fuck the IRS
tell my accountant
to go take a walk
no more stopping at
the post office
no more time-sensitive
legal documents
no more overnight
priority mail
no more business lunches
business cards
business meetings
business clothes
business conventions
business, business, business
no more space left in my head
no more loneliness
no more getting bored
no more fogged over mornings
no more standing naked
pissing alcohol
into my neighbor's potted plants
no more phone calls to the police
no more domestic disturbances
no more crying to my father
crying to my mother
crying to my sister
crying to any pretty girl
who will listen to me
Michael Cuglietta is a writer living in Tampa, Florida. His work appears in Opium, Zygote in My Coffee, Blow Back Magazine, The Beat and Haggard and Halloo.