Painting by Lou Ross. (instagram: lou_ross_)
I can predict the future.
I see myself on a desk,
twriling then breaking a pencil
Two hours, then four, then six
then as long as I need for sustenance
Sweet sustenance that hug my liver
until it suffocates.
Sweet sustenance that drain my lungs
and make me colorblind until
I only see grey
black and grey
With no eyes no tastes
and no skin.
My poor skin turns rigid
as the plastic and metal I love.
A inevitable wedding
Of man and his children.