New Poem

Lorna to the E.R.

The end of the semester arrived
when her head hit the counter,
eyes reeking of pills I gave her.

She came to later
and asked for water,
but I could not hear
her as I was planted

on the shitter, tugging myself
purple to the thought of a
bug-eyed ginger, her lower-
half like a hammer
smashing me into a jizzy batter...

Your voice reached closer, now
a whisper, its timbre softer
than I ever could remember,
my hand raced faster,
fingers forming
a stricter cylinder around my
dweeby member.

Soon some silver arrows
shot promptly to the wall
next to the shower,
from the center they crept down
in the shape of antlers. Your voice
was now lower, sinking with your
body next to the refrigerator.

I sat up at the sound of a knock
but could not answer, too busy
flattening a shaving razor,
waiting for the knocking reaper
to break the door, lift me over
his shoulder and deliver
me back to her.