by Nathan Tyree
I discovered a walrus living in my freezer. I beat it to death with my ex-girlfriend's femur (I don't know why the femur was still in my apartment, you'd think she would have taken it with her when she left), then I took the walrus out to a nice restaurant, but I made it pay the bill.
When you are sleeping I will evolve into a bird, then devolve into a reptile. When you wake up you will be upset by my lidless eyes staring down at you.
The scent of Bubble Yum makes me horny.
I love you so much that I want to use a rusty box cutter to slice you open from your cunt to your chin, then hollow your body out and build a pillow fort inside you. I will be a king inside your body. When I get tired of the fort I will fill the cavity with whisky and swim around in it. First I will have to learn to swim.
Fuck you! I look good in this hat.
I wish I was a dog because then no one would be really mad when I piss on their carpet.
Your eyes make me want to dismantle the stars and suffocate the moon. No one really needs those things anyway.
The thing about the Walrus was a lie. I paid the bill (but I made him get the tip).
Nathan Tyree's fiction and poetry has appeared in over 100 journals, including Dogmatika; Dogzplot; Heroin Love Songs; Edifice Wrecked; Poor Mojo's Almanac(k); Diddledog; Gutter Eloquence; Word Riot; The Beat; decomP; Mad Swirl; The Flash; Flesh and Blood.