Your Only Boyfriend

Your only boyfriend is the only one who has survived all the years of your bullshit. Your only boyfriend is the only one who has accompanied you from city to city, from vivisected relationship to taxidermied relationship, from bar to bar. Your only boyfriend is the only who has listened to you drone on and on about the Whitney and poetry, Frances Farmer and Kenny Goldsmith, beans and franks. Your only boyfriend has remained there through your heterosexuality, your lesbianity and your bisexuality. Your boyfriend waits patiently for you to die next to him at the end of each endless day. Your only boyfriend's weight fluctuates between nine and twelve pounds and he is furry. Your only boyfriend lies upon your tits and listens as you use mental floss between the crevices of your thoughts before crashing into your collectivized unconscious like a wino rhino. Your collectivized unconscious which is like a WALMART store that has capsized like that ship in The Poseidon Adventure. I mean it is just filled with the crap of a lifetime spent envy-shopping the low bush life of highbrow culture. I am like Shelley Winters. I die somewhere in the middle of your capsized ship. I tried. I really did. I was just too fat. Sorry.