Personal Matrix

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 ...