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.