Squirming

I’m all out of hands.
Mine are fraught with
wrinkles and veins and hair.

I miss getting hammered.
I miss getting nailed.
My skin’s falling off.
I can’t get my hair
to listen to me.

I’d shave my arms and legs
if only I were less
insecure.

I’m so damn used to seeing
my gaunt reflection
that my normal face looks fat.

I can’t be the only one
who’s gotten wasted
and tried to cut off
their own balls. Maybe
I don’t miss drinking.

I don’t know how
to spring back to life,
but I want to.

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