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