Flash me a sign that isn't a finger or a crucifixion

Stick your fingers down my throat

Until you reach my heart

And squeeze that black pebble so it starts beating again.

Shitting in a bag and breathing through a tube

Is a hard habit to break.

There's a slow sweetness to my clichéd decay.

Dying is boring after a year or five.

I saw your wraith tonight, out of focus

Dancing in time with an ugly ancient beat

The percussion of sex or murder

Entering me like smoke.