I squat on the brink of dirt,
relishing the pungent smell of rejections,
walking in the scruffy eaves-trough.
I'm calculating,
I'm evaluating,
the longitude and latitude of my melancholy;
my shredded family,
my dead mother,
my living dead father,
my scattered siblings, and more and more and more.
A disgusting creature punctures my mood, a nail flattened football,
the rat sips the juice of a chapped orange with its
sharp lips,
It marches away,
comes back as four,
the four rats eat the orange, as a family,
a happy one.
I'm sober,
I'd be happy, if I was part of their disgusting household.
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