Previously in the Worst Boyfriends in Literary History Series: Lord Alfred Douglas.

hey
are you home rn
yes
can i come over
who is this
rimbaud
who
the poet?
i sent you like
a bunch of my poems
and you said i should come to Paris
anyhow im in Paris
and i dont really know anyone here so idk where to sleep or live or eat or anything
look don’t worry about it just like
can i come over
oh
all right
great
you can come pick me up the Gare du Midi police station
sorry?
well i cant come over until someone pays this fine
and its sort of your fault that im even in Paris in the first place
for telling me i should come to Paris
so like not to put any pressure on you but this fine is really technically sort of ‘on you’ if you look at it a certain way
why are you at the police station
i mean
a lot of reasons
maybe a better question is
why aren’t YOU at this police station

 

who are all these little gremlins
where
the beasts that live on the floor
with the little human faces
the children?
my children?
i dont know what you call them
but its impossible to write great poetry with them clawing about underfoot
i’m sorry to hear that
lets run away
where would we go
how would we make a living
lets go to London
itll be perfect
I can steal pens from the British Museum
and your mother can send us money
what?
or my mother
im not particular
as long as somebodys mother sends us money
what about the children
i dont think they have any money to send us
but i welcome whatever support you think they can provide

 

we can’t keep living like this
we’ve got to go back to Paris
and live like sensible people
oh is that what you want
for me to like
cut my hair?
and only
only do my drugs INDOORS
like some kind of bourgeoise lamp, or whatever?
that’s not what i mean
i told you i’m trying to become as scummy as i can
i need to finish all my poems about asses
to become immortal
yes, but —
i’m going to piss straight into heaven
how’s that for sensible
piss right up into Heaven
or join the Army
I honestly havent decided