masochistic tendencies

drinking three day
old re-warmed coffee.
an oily film
clings to the

rim of my cup.
cold chef boyardee
on stale toast.
the burps, are

enough to induce
vomit. the hangover
of a twelve day
bender resonates

not just in my head
but the entire
apartment. the walls
throb to the same

beat as my temples.
a caterpillar has
replaced my tongue.
worming around in

my desert mouth.
a knock on the door
of the apartment
across the hall,

cracks my skull,
or seems to. I can't
escape the pain
which ironically

enough. I've chosen
to inflict myself.