Literal Purge
A poem from another life

[Disclaimer #1: I wrote this poem years ago. I’ve never rewritten it and I’ve never been able to put a title to it. I gave it a title for publishing purposes, but I still don’t like it. Maybe put some ideas in the comments, just for fun? Or maybe it doesn’t “deserve” a title because of what it represents. I can’t decide. Either way, thanks for reading].
[Disclaimer #2: Although this poem is very much in the abstract, it is worth giving it a trigger warning, so TW].
Freaks walk the streets, empty lots. Careless hand, give me yours, give me yours, run streets, painted man.
Who are you? Who are me? Yes, you. You’ll see. Forget this. Get that. Share with me, share with me.
Hide away. I go. Block memory, time for dream. Stay put. He’s ‘round corner. Not a sigh, not a squeak.
Gone back for more. Slave slave slave. Not enough, you want more. Leave! And don’t come back until you have at least 40 dollars!
You call. Come back. Stay turn of this track. Ignore. Goodbye. Fuck you. I cry.
Inside. Not out. Loud.
Thin. Gangling. Disgusting fool. Stove, cook, bed, Ouch! Fine. Devoted imagined throne, you speak of your god and home, show me books. Hours and hours. Days and days. Who cares. More more more. Treat you tangled tie. I wish this were a lie. Memory. Literal purge. I will never forget this place. Your sunken, graveled face.
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