i was shaped
by scalding fingertips
call it god, call it trauma
i will answer your call with only sandpaper indifference
.
and sharpen my nails on the dining table
digging in the grooves deeper
and deeper
‘cause there’s no turning back now
.
the summer air
slides like soup down my throat
it chokes out the weeds
it cooks my bones to marrow
and casts a mirage down the highway
.
cause i can’t see what’s happening any more than you
so maybe this is a good time to try and
boil my memories into bitter stew
lobotomize myself
until there is nothing left of you
.
and if fucked up is state of mind
i was born in its capitol
and maybe it’s killing me, but it’s still
my home, and like it or not
i’m going down with this city
.
so i scrub the floor clean
and turn the tap hot enough to burn
laugh myself dizzy
and by the time i stop it is 10pm
and i am a puzzle box
with all the pieces on the floor
.
but i don’t know how to learn
if i’m not being punished
so i’ll sear it into my arm like a promise
i will not make myself sick for entertainment
.
but it’s just empty words
’cause after a while, you don’t feel it anymore
theweesmirk
“and if fucked up is state of mind
i was born in its capitol
and maybe it’s killing me, but it’s still
my home, and like it or not
i’m going down with this city”
Love this piece, especially these lines!
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lornawritesthings
Aw, thank you!
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