I play in funhouse mirrors
Pressing my skin to the acrylic hoping it’ll grow cold
Praying not to fall in to join the rest, distorted and gone

It’s a dogpile
Looking for a finger or rib to break, only to make fools of us all
Each toothy gnarl in a group burying thinking that they’ve won

The skeletons are real and the closet behind your bed is cracked open
Holding midnight mass for the immoral things you believe
You’ve traveled miles and miles while I’m falling to the floor 

Sun reaches my eye, finally, hot and rancid
But I’m suffering from motion sickness in the passenger seat
Instead of at home melting off the edge of my boxspring hoping for more

Unhook my love from the freezer
There’s nothing quite like looking at me and asking me for a kiss
then I go rigid because I can't say no

My legs bend whichever way you want them to
Like flowers in the wind
But you're a tempest seeing through me and I am unborn

give it a second to kick in
Because sometimes all you need is some affection
But sometimes I think I’m better off leaving it there for you

To lay it out, pat it dry, my apologies
You can cut the fat off with a knife and chew
Grimy teeth gathering gristle

When you’re done playing, I’ll wait for you in the door frame
You crashed the car into the forest with a pretty boy riding shotgun
And I’ll be here whenever you get back

There’s another in the dogpile that looks just like me
And I would feel replaceable but you know I’ll never leave

This is what it must mean to be the object of your affection.

another poem?