I (Like Pizza Pie)

Naught I…



Flesh I…



Face I…



Bleeding I…








I ripped my face from my skull today,


Even savored it slightly

As it melted,

Fallen flesh seeping into the crevice between

My lips…

The severing didn’t hurt so much as remind me of

Wrestling a slice of pizza,

An ooey, gooey slice of pizza,

From the remainder of its

Molten pie,

Some cheesy carcass,

Striving to estrange itself


In stringy blobs and globs of marinara


This is what I offer you today:

My facial flesh,

Ripped fresh,

Still lukewarm,

Gathered in a tangled mass,

Like seaweed,

          Only softer…


A slice of my soul


For supper:

My gift to you.

Happy birthday.




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