Morning Sun

Raised on a cozy diet of conditional love,

I learned to emoji from teevee.

Now I’m hounded by gripes before my time.

Twisted in my genome is this thorn,

               and all I see are feuds,

even swans got boxing gloves for heads.

— Ah Ketty-San, why so mori? Maybe you need upgrade

of person?

History shat on every household.

Cop cruisers wand their infrared along bludgeoned homes,

demanding boys to spread your cheeks,

               lift your sac —

Now, here’s an alcopop to dull that throb,

hide your ugly feelings.

I want to love, yes, yet afraid to love

since I will be slapped, yet

what’s this itch? A fire ant burning to a warring,

boiling froth of lust: Slap me, harder,

slap me again!

— Ketty-San, so Sado Masakumi, so much

Sodami Hari Kuri.

I sorry.