The frying pan is in the sink
for ten days now, full of grease and tears.
There's no need for it to be washed,
nothing's in the house to cook.
Besides, there's no detergent.
I've started reading some
decade-old magazines stacked in my closet,
pretending to live in the time they were published,
a time when there were eggs and butter
and tomatoes and cheese and tiramisu in the fridge.
I try to recall the taste of chicken but I fail to.
I'd love to listen to some music as well,
but that's a bit tricky when I got no batteries
or electricity in hand.
But reading the magazines tires me.
To keep my mind occupied
from thinking about (the lack of) food
I got this deck of cards and I play solitaire.
The only setback is that two cards - the two of hearts
and six of diamonds- are missing.
I guess that makes the game a bit hard
(or impossible some might say) to finish.
Hey, who cares? I was a loser since forever, I'm used to that.
But none of these things makes me miserable.
What really crashes my spirit
is not having your red, red mouth
sucking on my cock every night
and every morning
and every afternoon...