how to serve man.

that's not a hand. ii's a claw. and this is not a song. it's an exorcism of numbness. we are not in my bedroom anymore. it's a prison camp that i've been stuck in. this isn't skin. it's a scramble suit with a thousand me's rotating. that's not your mouth, its a boredom generator powered by irritation. we aren't a couple. we're isolationists who tried to use the buddy system. and that wasn't sex. It was a competition for power that I'm clearly winning.

this ain't a break up. i like to think of it as a stay of execution.

you're not a woman. you're a piranha with cutlery for dentured up smile. and i'm not a man. i'm an incomplete punchline to a joke i don't understand.