trading mocha freckles
and glitter spit
for some sick-bed feeling
that rusts like summer cars
in deep green lakes;
that fade like ghost drugs
down twisted spines, intertwined.
isolated, peeling dead thoughts
like dead skin off with my teeth.
sitting here, disgustingly dependent.
i don’t want this.
black lungs,
if i had a theory, it’d be fucking nuclear.
when
fighting through the sheets,
through the duck feathers and sleep,
just to watch the sun sting blue eyes red.
constantly fighting with myself.
it’s like kicking frozen tundra.
but i can’t ask.
i won’t ask.
you spin me out of control.
you spin me out of control.
try to shake you off;
you’re just like ink.
whiskey and cigarettes,
i can’t think.
