The rat.
The rat that gnaws and scratches and hungers inside our breasts and our hearts and our bellies
We feed it by climbing mountains and jumping off bridges and driving fast cars. We appease it with wine and fast food and pizza and DVDs.
We wake cursing it, sick with remorse but stirring still with hunger.
The rat.
I don't feed my rat olives or let her sip at vodka. I don't let her smoke weed and she doesn't take pills. My rat hungers only for the touch of another. To know the rat which scuttles about inside of someone else. My rat is a horny little bitch that wants only to fuck you and taste you and cuddle you and cry as you sleep then move on.
My rat will be the death of me.
I'm so lucky I've got a nice beaver.
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