IAN MARTIN

i only get out of bed for things i don't love. i'm dehydrated cause i'm scared to stop having
fun. i'm scared things might have changed and water sucks now. the city's therapists meet
each night to stand in the rapids by the power station. in the light of overpriced condos they
discuss the evil men do. so i must be a man. so i sit alone in the vip watching last year's
snuff. water does nothing to me now. i need to up my dose. i only feel good when i tear it
from someone else, the good dripping from their wound. i don't sleep anymore. i want to
hear what the therapists whisper. i don't want to learn, i'm just nosy. the power station
hums and the condos stay lit.

i met a guy who claimed
he was immune to roofies

suggesting a world in which
he gets roofied all the time

but never has to suffer.
he's passing out now

and i hope beyond hope
it's just the alcohol.