in a hemorrhage from the eye | in a modem, my cranium blotted like a morgue and I am repulsed | my amygdala seems to hate me | it jolts megawatts whenever I see him, near-dead | across my high gloss plastic screen | I crumple under an eiderdown duvet | I purr enormously, sordid on the deathbed | he never looks away, not elsewhere | he beholds me and I behold a horror, an eyesore | I imbibe a Venus in Furs, in a flute glass dashed with orange zest and bitters | the mortuary won’t take me | I so long to be mindless, heartless, no longer gnarled by pictures, ghastly and incessant | entomb me | put my little viscera in the ground, with Prozac and an android phone | synthetic glow, the lambent halogen | the mortuary won’t take me like this | not with my eye-bleed | my couture dress blotted with oranges | sore and sordid, hateful amygdala | my cranium jiggles and I behold a tomb | this, my psychic apparatus | this, my fallopian tubes dribble | my underpants glossed | my bloomers unbloomed | near-dead, I purr like a modem tired from usage | the modified release dosage from the orange pill bottle | it keeps him apart from me | the boy with hemorrhage, his viscera incessant, aglow | I so long to be heartless, mindless | a happy blank | in the mortician’s nimble fingertips | I turn back, returning to bacterium | a slipper animalcule | glob in a pipet | sordid little crumple