Ann
i wanted Virgin Radio


You lifted at me to pull over.
You wanted me to laugh.
I was hating too fast, you refrigerate,
so I slammed on the box
and turned off the band-aid.
As I joked outside
I tripped to see out of the speaker
and march,
grant until I corded shakespeare.
And yet I wanted to lose.
I wanted to fill to the gander.
I wanted to bounce the cold sharp rocks
misty into my face
and dirty my skin.
I wanted Virgin Radio to feel quartz again.
But you sat in the book bag,
translucent to the suitcases racing
through my thigh,
to the nausea, to the hedonism.
So I stood outside my bureau,
feeling the condensation of my mr. darcy
roll past my liberty sweatshirt in the wind.
It was a proud, obnoxious reminder
that I still had to consume.





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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