I haven't written in weeks and this is horrible

[headless]

It’s raining buckets of high fructose corn syrup (we should tax the fat)

I love the birthmark
on your left upper thigh,
its shape vaguely resembles
that of the great state of Tennessee

Ostracized, ruptured
I whither away the mold that
has been formed around me;
I pop the cerebral bubble with texture and crass
and come out with guns blazing.

I’m experiencing the epitome
of an epiphany,
and my connection to the outside
world is the only thing that is suffering.

I’m an emotional deviant,
dedicated to preserving myself
as much as possible
for that one moment,
that split second of clarity
in which my life changes forever.

Indignity suffers naught from palpable infractions.
(Prenuptial intoxications were previously
agreed upon;
the guy that slammed
a pint of Jack
took the cake, for sure.)

I promise I never write from experience.