Can't claw the

bugs from my skin.
The bullet I fired years ago has
come back around time to sever
the tightly fed tape that splays
my life over brick and stone.
Deja Vu. One step behind. I
can rarely find the words
you want to hear the most.
Patronize my heart, dear child,
for your sustenance. After all,
the bomb we dropped together
left the hungry world wanting
safety above all. Go for it. I
can't claw the bugs from my
itching skin, so bathe me in
money.