December 29th

I sold myself today.
Came up shot of a reasonable price.
Decent,
yet and still
it.
Fire and fury
for a stem offering.
Hot shot- a fleeting moment.
Steel horses escaping violently down my throat.
Degradation. Wet inviting.

What is price?
Value or worth?
Flesh worth.
What is flesh worth on an open market?
What is price worth?
Self worth. Commodity. Fetish.

This submission to longing
has kept my hands from grabbing
an M16, a bottle of whiskey, and
obliterating every life including my own.

This submission
is the reason I am dying twice as fast as my brothers.
Be it by the bullet or spoiled seed.

I belong to a select few.
Those left dancing red
in the avenue lights
on crushed cans.
on exposed hope. . .

I will always be there
behind smiles,
behind heads,
in the corner of family photos-
performing my duties in silence.
Begging acknowledgment or death.
Begging some reprieve from the monotony of sorrow.

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