i fabricate my own cozy bastille
a snap of my fingers and bonds dissolve
like grape kool-aid in water but
i worry about purple fingers and
i am not in a snappy fucken mood so
i sit with rank taste in my mouth
indulging in life's bitter fruit
like one of mommy's "lessons"
feeding me cookies till i get sick to
my gutless gut
misery my jezabel
i have money today ...