boil

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

2 thoughts on “boil

  1. 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!

    Liked by 1 person

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