tense
those muscles like a bowstring
like the greasy words slipping down your throat
pace
around, what, 100 square feet?
the carpet and the bedframe
and the bookcases, buckling
beneath their own weight
look up
at used car prices, the night sky for all i care
and spend hours and hours and hours
scrolling through apartments on my phone
scribble down figures in notes
maybe i’ll take up running, maybe i’ll change my plans
but i don’t want to tell a soul
shift
your jaw and try
to put a pin on why you feel sick
and why you can see it
all rolling out before you
take
you’re walking on a tightrope, my music playing on loop
like the buzzing of a fly
crumple
up that story, up all those words
and grimace as they stick
to your eyelashes, to the bottom of your throat
you’re never gonna forget those words that were said
when you were ten years old, so why don’t you
etch them into notebook pages
and tear through the paper with your pen
why don’t you feel useless, why don’t you stay up late
why don’t you sit inside these four walls
and drive yourself crazy
there’s a world out there, if only you could find it
if only you could go
if only you were braver
if only you didn’t feel so alone
as you talk and talk and talk
to tiny voices on the telephone
tense
those fists into battering rams
into wrecking balls, ready to knock down whole rooms
in the span of one breath
i’m gonna spin around in circles until i catch my death