So I sit here and I
inhale minty smoke
into my lungs
and I play Southern Cross
on repeat in my brain
And for some reason
I can’t help but feel a little
Ashamed
of the soreness on my arms
And my ribs
And I can’t help but feel
A little ashamed
That no one can know
How bad it feels to raise my hand
or hug my best friend
Not only due to the soreness on
my arms and ribs
But also due to the soreness in
My heart
So I inhale one time
And exhale twice
And I dust warm ash off of my thigh
Now I sit in the stinging cold
And I can’t help but feel like
I wish the car would have flipped
And crushed all my internal
Organs
Everyone else would have
Lived
And forgotten
With maybe a scar or two
On their arms
Or on their ribs
Just like me
And that’s how I would
Be remembered
Through little cuts and scrapes
On arms
And ribs
And bruises
On necks
And faces