i have this ringing in my ears
and wicked sprinkle on my tongue
today's just one of those days
that i don't care about anyone

you asked me one day
"zombie apocalypse, three people
who do you take?"
my first thought was you
so we could repopulate
but that's not what i would say
i'd just laugh and turn away
give you someone else's name
and make up an excuse like
*he's probably good with a blade

My mother held me,
and asked what was wrong with my world.
Her rubbery hands in my hair.
"I feel like a plastic narrative," I said,
"and there's nothing I can do about it."

i can feel this rage making its way through the blood in my veins, white hot. incinerating every other thought or feeling my body might send in to calm and counteract this anger before it manifests into something more physically painful. it's too strong. there's too many factors investing in this fury and placing bets on the things of himself he'll destroy tonight. let's go, corona, we have a show to put on. what a shame it would be if we let these people down.

there is an uneasy contentment
in knowing exactly what rock bottom looks like

while i lay in bed, watching episodes
of the office for the seventh time
you and him stand in the mountains
firing a high caliber weapon
at silhouette targets that might as well be me