know that
there's a mannequin in my chair
those waxy kind of thoughts
those waxy kind of cheeks
involuntarily replacing me
the shrouded cathedral
draped over melting plastic
resembles my rib cage
the cracked marble
the discolored ivory
the pearl pretending eyes
i no longer have to
eat
he's cultivated all the refuse
hidden it away
inside of me
i can be opened by magic
a can opener
is magic
something soft stabbed into my
intestines
while I watch for vanished lines
without knees I will walk into
forever places
hung with hallowed lights
they will preach florescent
the meals will be of sawdust stars
the wall dreary old cement
I will paint them with the graffiti equivalent
to the years of my life
I will be of plastic casings
a body to sell
until we are washed out
until we are formed into shiny islands
in a retching, gelatinous, blue sea
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