it's the middle of the night
and I won't rest until I get
the chance to change everything
and jump into another body
I've got chlorine in my hair
I've got scars on my skin
I'm only trying to keep my
head above all this water
the end means I stop looking back
you know how skies look different
when you're at a ****** gas station?
I think that's kind of the same as how
your love always seemed sweeter
when it was nearly killing me

A girl with blonde hair and brown skin cries in an empty parking lot
The Uber ride home is three dollars too much
And the Shell station would be her only salvation
But she doesn't look good under florescent lighting

The question respirates
the acrylic aperture
behind the eardrum.
A responsive tongue to the palate
taps out the consonant.
But before the note descends
with musts in the glass-
The cathartic statue
refracts the
synapses stretching
continuums
to grant a
minuscule autocracy.
Already charting north,
fingers fluently gather
ego between the
sundered reverb of the vowel.
Already twisting key,
pressing restive feet
to acquiescent gasoline.