i'm constantly stuck between
bones and blood and amphetamines
i keep thinking that
i can have it all if i just find the right scene
and i can see toxic thoughts like toxic waste
contaminating the oceans of my mind
a bitter aftertaste, a better nursery rhyme
the glowing eyes of my demons
reflecting off the blade of a knife
and the half smiling rings on the coffee table
are the only things keeping me
company at night
i never thought i'd ever describe pain as
"bright"
"vibrant"
"almost warm in the right light"
i'm stuck here, falling apart
a glass object breaking in slow motion
becoming bones before tomorrow starts
fissures turn to fractures, an explosion
kids these days call that abstract art
who i am hates who i used to be,
and who i was always wanted to be
this
a human typewriter who knows
how everyone's stories begin and end
a tree limb that never breaks, only bends
the back end of a horse
a street with a dead-end
a best friend a godsend
wind me up and watch me pretend
turning circles and spitting up my
heart on my bedroom floor.
"this is as good as it gets, my friend."