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Willing to look at your weathered Face and weep. Trace the cardboard tear. Run my finger down those little cracks Rubbing hairs, breaking spines Then laugh. I can lay here on this non-existent slab Pretending death. Imagining which organ You have crushed within your hands. Smell your breath. The scent of graveyards, dusty tables, ham And all those bottled memories you have left. Flood my life with varied vice Then die a sizzling sudden shock. Half dressed, half bent And modeling little but a pair of socks. On my face a sculpted smile. Scratches, scuffs and varied stains Unpaid rent, sagging skin Un-kept hair and clogged up veins. Content.