It is not a want. It is not a wish. It’s simple. A demon waiting at the foot of your bed to grab your ankles while you sleep. It’s a gnat burrowing into your ear and laying eggs behind the socket of your eye. It’s sitting in your own filth for days, staring at the shower across the room while minutes become hours. It’s six months since you’ve talked to your dad, And whining like an infant to your lover begging to be spit-shined like a piece of silverware, “I have given so much to the page, please tell me I am not worthless.”
