There is a burning match

There is a burning match
In my pocket
And it will get put out
by someone’s spit

I collect friends
My pockets don’t require rent money
And everyone’s welcome

I forget the ways
People know me
And creep into their souls
Without invitation

Lovers’ mouths
are trap door compartments
The stairs are rotten
And my feet don’t have enough brace

There is a flood in every basement
Rats bathing in wine
And blood raining from the ceiling

In this abyss
My power is at its highest

Every time we speak
We are looking for approval


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