OBGYNius

I am a lamb alive on a spit,
roasting with each foot in its respective stirrup
This paper hospital gown covers nothing.
Not that it matters anyway; we're far past a point of discretion
and I'm supposed to be alright with that.

It's not like the thought of a doctor examining my genitals freaks me out
It's just that she
Takes so long to walk in the door
and insists on making nonchalant small talk
though mine seeps through clenched teeth like a sieve

THE WEATHER'S FUCKING GREAT ISN'T IT

I tell her I want to be a journalist
And she,
peering deep into my pussy,
says
Yeah,  I could see you on tv.

oh, something good tonight make me forget about you for now

Won't you just eat me up already?

My heart can beat out the last of its disoriented rhythm

While I

Try to emulate Bukowski's

rotting fruit demure

Like

Everything's fucking rotten

And everything's fucking

To the sound of a cock crowing 

obscenities 

in the morning

I woke up yesterday and didn't feel a thing

Today I've got leprosy, small pox,

Black plague

Tar clotting up the veins in my legs

"You're just a little anxious.

"No, you're just a little crazed"

Tired of being quirky, pathetic, insane

Maniacally depressed,

albiet, well dressed

so they drop the interrogation after

"Are you ok?"

The interactions we don't want but have anyway

Get the oven going

board up the windows and doors

Someone's name is ringing out

I've heard it before 

And so long as the doctor says I'm in good health

I'll fantasize making love to you then killing myself

It's just about as numb as I can get

Caught up on some rage you stuck inside my head.