Always get this feeling,
like a bullet the size of a bowling ball
is stuck deep in my chest. Like,
a child lost in a supermarket
whose parents were stabbed
outside in their minivan.
Got a shake in my hands
or a spark in the front of my skull
I can't press out no matter
how hard I squeeze my forehead.
My brow furls.
Think about biting off the tongue
a lot lately. I have you, always,
in place of cold solace or warm comfort.
No real reason, emptiness just
creeps up on you and grabs you
like a good friend. Gotta love it, right?
When you want to just
climb in a box with your
arms around yourself;
it's like your holding something
together.
"Like" it...
It's not even anyone's fault anymore,
I just get here on my own.
I know the path, and I follow it.
There's not enough sad songs in
the worn out jewel cases from the
90's to 2004 to stop my...
I don't believe in souls anymore...
from being troubled.
In the back of a yellow cab,
somewhere inside, raining.
The driver looks at you in the rear-view,
asks, "Where are we going?"
You curl up by the window.
Just gaze at the storefronts,
the gait of the ordinary citizens.
"Yeah", you tell him, softly,
"Anywhere is fine."