lying on the bench, arms hanging limply
cement's out of reach, but just barely
dishwatery thoughts conjured from your fingers
it's only at 5 am
in a playground for 6 year olds
that you'll admit the world terrifies you
slowly stitching back the seams that came undone
with mass amounts of pointless lovers
you'll walk home in the dregs of the moon
keys in between each finger of your left hand
always your left hand
static playing from nearby houses
neighborhood punks earfucking you nightly from their armor of oversized hoodies and daddy issues
greasy haired and waiting on his japanese motorcycle
a lovesick girl who refuses to admit she's tired
and for what?
dismiss and cut through the night's flesh
watch the stars bleed their light onto the black canvas
and use their ***** to guide you to your bedroom window
cold coffee spilt on the nightstand keeps the loose papers
anchored to each other and to the fake wood grain
the walls are dyed with fireworks as your eyes adjust
they'll never adjust