Kit MacNeil

Sometimes the bravest I do each day is stay alive.

Wildly I lay on her, kissed her: eyes, her lips, her stretched neck beating, woman’s breasts full in her blouse of nun’s veiling, fat nipples upright. Hot I tongued her. She kissed me. I was kissed. All yielding she tossed my hair. Kissed, she kissed me. Me, me now.

There is someone in my head but it’s not me.

This is melancholia. Wanting to eat yourself whole.

i talk to god whenever i touch myself turn a cavern into a cathedral & then burn it to the ground. who’s to say what is holy? i talk to god when i tell you to fuck me so good i forget my own name. years later, i am still haunting the margins of your memory. still in bloom. open wide–now you, too are blooming.

He is constructing a god out of my body and I do not stop him. This will make a ghost of him and me. But tonight he needs an altar and I’m not here to be brave.

I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.