wish-sticks

god, do i miss - and i level the words against my shoulder like a shotgun, weigh the thought out on my tongue like teeth - well. does it matter what i miss, when none of my shots have ever hit the dead center of their plush-pumping targets? i miss, i miss, god, do i miss. god, do i always fucking miss. shaky fingers, if you ask me. weak wrists and hollow elbows and wire-boned shoulders and broken ribs and rattling spine and, and, and, and, and. i've tried writing about people who aren't me for so long that sitting down and pressing probablymy keys to the letters feels as fake and scripted as it always has. i've tried writing about people w

take one - in which burned bread is beautiful They're crumbs in the road, toast-speckles that spin and skirt and we      drive past, like we always do, the radio          singing white noise against my black humor and you say    you say I'm getting better, and I think no, I am better I am better, I say and you say        no and I say yes, I'm fucking exemplary and you ask who Exemplary is and I tell you it's me and I think     somewhere                we got lost in the words And I'm not all that keen on admitting to you that sure thing, dad,     I'm fucking myself over and over             but mostly I'm just fucking myself o

god, do i miss - and i level the words against my shoulder like a shotgun, weigh the thought out on my tongue like teeth - well. does it matter what i miss, when none of my shots have ever hit the dead center of their plush-pumping targets? i miss, i miss, god, do i miss. god, do i always fucking miss. shaky fingers, if you ask me. weak wrists and hollow elbows and wire-boned shoulders and broken ribs and rattling spine and, and, and, and, and. i've tried writing about people who aren't me for so long that sitting down and pressing probablymy keys to the letters feels as fake and scripted as it always has. i've tried writing about people w

the wrong reaction glass on the pavement - bare feet they never listened

you make the wind blow backwards the sun opaque and my heart breathe you're what they pumped through my veins to cure me but i'm allergic to things that are good for me when i say allergic, i mean it you'll make my heart swell up and my lungs burn red, i wish you'd believe me when i say, but then i wish for a lot that you can't give so you can't give me the time of day that i need so i guess i'll have to steal it from you an hour each day from what keeps you alive and sane and soon you'll be all fine. tick tock tick tock and i'm keeping the beat with aching hearts and blistered feet i'm going to wrap you in bandages and pretty l

I found religion, and it was you. That was my first mistake.