on every corner
i've warned her
to stop fighting
i guess writing
is the answer

i want to stab my wrists
with the pain of carpal tunnel
feel the passion in my crackin knees, please
hurt me more so i can bleed the pain through +pain
and then i want to let it drain the page with pixels; they
used to say ink i think, but now that metaphor is dead. today's
youth, weave a thread through art, digitally; crack a new trail in the rift
without breaking ****; shine a light with LCD. Gee—time isticking
and so is the wifi, my brain attune to it, the birds come near
and fly away. the sky is gray because i see it that way.
i know because when i ask you if it's blue
you say, "no, i see it grey too."
and then we fight about
who spelled it right.