Neil McCray
i wanted Gandalf


You ran at me to pull over.
You wanted me to shot.
I was shooting too fast, you jump,
so I slammed on the hobbit
and turned off the dwarves.
As I fought outside
I pleaded to beg out of the dragon
and play,
wrote until I righted Rowling.
And yet I wanted to thougt.
I wanted to hear to the elves.
I wanted to hopped the cold sharp rocks
quickly into my face
and swiftly my skin.
I wanted Gandalf to feel orcs again.
But you sat in the Saruman,
ugly to the men racing
through my gluteus maximus,
to the nausea, to the Buddhism.
So I stood outside my house,
feeling the condensation of my bird
roll past my mouse in the wind.
It was a small, large reminder
that I still had to run.





i wanted pain


You screamed at me to pull over.
You wanted me to stop.
I was driving too fast, you said,
so I slammed on the brakes
and turned off the engine.
As I stepped outside
I wanted to jump out of the car
and run,
run until I lost myself.
And yet I wanted to fall.
I wanted to fall to the ground.
I wanted to feel the cold sharp rocks
cutting into my face
and slicing my skin.
I wanted pain to feel good again.
But you sat in the car,
clueless to the thoughts racing
through my mind,
to the nausea, to the surrealism.
So I stood outside my car,
feeling the condensation of my breath
roll past my face in the wind.
It was a constant, nagging reminder
that I still had to breathe.

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