Boy problems?
I slice ’em small, pack ’em in a Ziploc heart-beat,
grind the teeth you kissed into chalk-dust,
snort the memory, sneeze your name out nasal napalm.
Ringtone screams like a Slayer lullaby—
I answer with a blender, pulse until the chorus bleeds pink.
Text reads: sorry, died again.
I LOL in reverse, throat full of rusted promise,
spit the shrapnel back into your DMs—
read receipts cremated, 3 a.m. ash on your selfie.