Ice

sometimes i just feel like melting.
the heat from the flame gets to me.
every now and again i think it would be easier to

drip
from
my
bones
and collect in a puddle on my carpet.

i could finally let go...

the world could seethe my weary flesh and i would concede myself to judgment.





slowly





roasting





on the skewer of the image if the man i am supposed to be, i would placidly sojourn.


i wouldn't be full... but i would at least be subdued; comatose from the opiate of supreme apathy... happy to be unhappily numb.