Your owl eyes have been replaced with tiny turtle heads
that retreat at the sight of stability.
Your nose has curved into more lady-legs to pace
around the dorm-halls of the art school your going to this Fall.
Once bitten.
Twice hot.
Ripped my stomach out with an box-cutter rather than untie the knot.
I have an office job now and when I come home
I line up all of my possesions on a table, sit in a wheelchair on
the opposite side of the room and shoot at them with
a shotgun.

I always said that you murdered me and that I would put you in the ground.
You've been dead for 7 months now,
and I can't stop writing poems about taking a pressure washer to your locks
and how I'd love to build a cabin for us and grow crops down South.
It can't be healthy.
Poor advice.
I definitely appreciate the heartfelt obscurity to this. (As well as your taste in music).

My only suggestion/criticism is that the "ripped my stomach out..." part seems to come too abruptly and you might consider some sort of transition. Otherwise, I really liked this.
I highly recommend that everyone interested in making money online join this site.

and I can't stop writing poems about taking a pressure washer to your locks

That's the only tiny bit I didn't like. Just the start of that line. Something about it. I know this doesn't help but I figure any tiny thoughts are better than none.

Other than that this was great. Way more relateable than usual, and the length of it was great too.
O! music: Click (Youtube)

^ Click to see an acoustic arrangement of Ke$ha's 'Your Love is my Drug' - everyone's favourite song.