My Body Is A Temple
By Andrew Worthington
(Illustrated by Emily Horn)

fast asleep and smiling in front of a 7-11 international terrorist massacre

there is bad shit going on, bad shit
and I want you to know
that I know
that there is a possum growing out of my legs
it has little blood shot eyes that are falling out the socket
and they keep swinging up and down and back and forth because they are what
one could consider slinkies
bought from the dollar store
made of cheap plastic that
your mom would say isn’t allowed on the carpet
so you play outside
and kill plastic kill

open your wide open eyes
there are helicopters the size of fruit flies
and you cant tell the difference
I can but you cant
I can but you cant
lets eat healthy for now but not care
lets do all the socially acceptable things but not
care if we fail in that ambition because we have none

reaching for the bars

I ate some of my hair before you got here. I ripped it from my head and stuffed it in my mouth, stuffed it down my throat. I also masturbated three times earlier tonight, to photographs and videos of other people, because I knew you might not perform oral sex and I just cant get down with any other types of sex they take too much effort. I always was told that masturbation is meant as a substitute for sex but I seem to find sex is actually a substitute for masturbation. Yeah, you heard me, or rather, you read me. You read my other stories and I always got angry because you just didn’t get it. I think you got them but you thought that the main character and/or narrator was me, and that is pretty much true, for the most part, but you can’t think that, and you certainly shouldn’t fucking think it out loud. You think you know me but you don’t know me, you just know that I am kind of that guy in the stories, but that’s nothing special. I think a lot of people know that but they just don’t say it, because they assume that things are as they are and everything is more complex, but they’re wrong, I don’t want it to be complex, I want it to be raw and exactly how it is. Now, can you please just perform oral sex on me. I am lying down and I have been waiting for you—I have been prepared for orgasm for the past twenty minutes. Please! Please! Don’t say “let’s wait a bit” and that you “want to talk about our days”…This is my day. Damn. It’s 9 o’clock. It’s almost over. You just got here. In three hours the day will be over. I will say I have to go to bed. You will walk out of my apartment and get stabbed and mugged on your way to the bus. If my strategy works then you will have performed oral sex on me. It may have taken two minutes for me to get it all out or you may try in vain for over an hour and then I will tell you “it’s okay.” I will perform oral sex, too, don’t worry. I will stroke your hair and you’ll stroke mine, and feel my saliva. I realize this situation I am describing is one of privilege and you may be really bored and/or annoyed with this and I will say, “What, you can’t relate?” and when I say it I won’t be saying it rhetorically.

My Body is a Temple

Well its just great that I am taking care of myself.
I spent a lot of money and ordered in for a while
and that made me feel shitty or I felt shitty because
I got broke.

I quit smoking because it was bad for my health,

I also haven’t been snorting or popping.
All that is bad
for my health, economically.

I realized I was using my partner
so I said we were done.

I started wacking again
after having never done that really
too regularly or religiously,
and I feel a bit more at ease,
except that I always want to
wack it.

I dont
drink as much, anymore.
Some days
I dont drink.

I bought an air conditioner because
it gets unbearably hot over the summer.

I am getting on
a more normal sleep schedule,
except for right now at 609 am
as I write this poem
and the sun comes up.

Things really are going great.


andrew worthington lives in new york city