Lullaby: People will like you better after you’re dead.

I tell jokes to my doctor. Not the kind

about a french fry who’s dating ketchup,

but the jokes I put on twitter just before

I’m unfollowed by @IAmSexyBookstore.

‘Do you think I will still heal if I drink Sprite?’

He doesn’t even laugh, adjusts the X-ray,

until he finally avers, ‘Of course! Sure!’

I’m not dying, I should add. Just broken.

A swollen ankle hate-fucked a kidney.

My doctor thinks I’m kidding when I ask,

‘Who will put up pictures of cheeseburgers

on my Facebook if I’m out of commish?’

Who will attend my life’s dropping hours?

The thousands of razors I’ve saved, thinking,

‘I’ll just let this go. Sooner or later

you’re gonna have to call me Santa Claus.’