Untitled 6 / Poetic Purgative

Perhaps in the pit of my stomach
the whole time
there were tons of giant
love-eating 
spiders.

Arachnids climbing their way
on the chambers of lungs replacing
oxygen with doubt and
blood cells with anxiety.

Hungry and insatiable.
Living on the verge of tears with
what-if’s made of insect legs bodies
large as fists.

Perhaps in the pit of my stomach
the whole time
there were tons of giant
love-eating 
spiders.

And perhaps up to now they still
exist. Thriving like humans
in the intergalactic Milky Ways
of my intestine.

Maybe I should drink laxative (?)

Perhaps an intergalactic love–
inducing confidence–
boosting laxative

will do.

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