pain is too many exclamation points -
some kind of overcompensation for the sober realization that we need to be happy,
but aren't
pain is burnt toast, but not in the good way;
like the way that it sits on your tongue
Makes your mouth taste like metal,
makes your words feel like crumbs
waiting to be swept away
today, I laughed too much, so by 3 o' clock I had no smiles left in me
They have gone like I have gone to sleep
waiting for some alarm to sing
to ring with something like hope
something to cut the rope, the knots
my stomach ties when I don't notice
Pain is knowing that you know this
will hurt
and knowing is half the battle.
But knowing is...half the battle
The rest of the war is dealing with more
exclamation points than you wanted
more mornings without alarms
more meals
of only crumbs.
another spoken poem i've been meaning to post somewhere, haven't recorded it but it's an idea that's been in my head a long time.
