Sometimes I want to take my car
and drive to the middle of a desert
and get out and lay down and just stay there
until something happens.
Like a coyote eats me
or a dust storm blows me away...
I don’t know why I come up here
all the time,
maybe it’s like weird,
free therapy for me. I’m sorry,
I know that when I talk
I *** people out...
I think I’m poison.
And maybe getting up here is like me cutting
off bits of my infected self and
sharing it with you.
But the pieces are small
so the poison’s diluted,
so you get to go home ok.
And I… I get to hurt a little bit less.