I feel like I’m gonna die
In my room
In my room
My god, in my room

My clothes all wet my hair cut short
Out of the cocoon out of the coma
Out of the depression caused by your last embrace

I feel like I’m gonna die again and again
Like that boy, Roland’s son, his name was

His name was JAKE

Am I him as he’s falling? The second death, the fall or the first,
Crushed beneath the wheels of the car

My god my clothes are wet on the floor the cats are everywhere
Biting my skin everywhere I think I’m dying they’re coughing up
My hair, it was blonde but now it’s not, the blonde was a man
Whose last embrace chilled me as I came undone

But where did the water come from? They say from the sky.
But the sky is black, (black paint peels to reveal sunny blue)

(But not right now)

It’s not the future yet. And I am not making any sense. Maybe
If you read me backwards as I fall,

“The man in the mirror is dead,” moans the cat as he lurches
Back and forth, gagging on my swallowed hair.

I’ve retired from Sexuality. I am a monk to my own Fate. I am chilled
And celibate, an ageless thing I think I am dying,
But I am not.

I am simply becoming.