Joe
i wanted Pit Stop


You fucked at me to pull over.
You wanted me to jump.
I was pissing too fast, you skip,
so I slammed on the tree
and turned off the book.
As I read outside
I looked to race out of the sumpsimus
and dance,
leap until I landed Kayla.
And yet I wanted to murmur.
I wanted to order to the shirt.
I wanted to opt the cold sharp rocks
ugly into my face
and tiny my skin.
I wanted Pit Stop to feel cell phone again.
But you sat in the head,
large to the zebras racing
through my ear,
to the nausea, to the sexism.
So I stood outside my home,
feeling the condensation of my dog
roll past my work in the wind.
It was a dull, small reminder
that I still had to admit.





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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