An Attercop Must Eat (June 2024)

I have red bumps all over my figure 

Where an arachnid must have bore its teeth 

I’m irritated, rosy and desirable in my sleep

My blood must be syrupy and saccharine sweet 

I toss and I turn, I itch and I burn

But I understand, an attercop must eat 

When have I ever been one 

To hold someone hungry, accountable for what they have done?

And in my slumber, what was I to do, run?

Its not as if I sleep with a gun 

In the dark of my room, around dawn 

I doze with my neck out like an impuissant fawn 

I’ve never budged while being feasted on

Not out of fear, or paralysis, but all too consumed in my dreams 

My inability to protect my soft skin has become a bit of a recurring theme 

From the time I was sixteen

 in a cold broken down car 

While my body was ravaged, I looked through the fog stained windows and out at the stars 

And even now, I’m a vicenarian 

meeting unknown women at bars 

For someone this masculine, my pain is ovarian 

I can’t help leaving every intimate experience feeling somewhat marred 

Do I look like I’m begging?

Do I put out a scent?

Is my epidermis just fit for tearing?

Am I hard to purchase and easy to rent? 

I hit my pillow every night, blotchier and bloodier than the night before 

The table is set, the spiders are hungry, all that’s left is for me to do is lie here and endure.