you could fry and egg on that sidewalk if you wanted

to. you could burn your hair and melt your plastic packaging

file your nails on the chalkboard and feel your eardrums

erupt. you could buy a plant and kill it, and daydream

about getting a tattoo. in my mythic someday

scented with air freshener and wildfire smoke

clogging up the highway. and it’s all self-inflicted

but that doesn’t matter. and we’ll scream and shout

and pray that you’re noticed, but up

in their tower, they can’t hear a word. and i’m regretting

my every life decision, i’m digging palms into my wrists

at that hot, sticky tone. like hummingbird food down my throat.

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