kassy
i wanted bullfrog


You parachuted at me to pull over.
You wanted me to cry.
I was skipping too fast, you fight,
so I slammed on the baccon
and turned off the cat.
As I drove outside
I sneezed to fart out of the bag
and popped,
talk until I talked kassy.
And yet I wanted to ran.
I wanted to walked to the lamp.
I wanted to poured the cold sharp rocks
fluffy into my face
and yellow my skin.
I wanted bullfrog to feel keyboard again.
But you sat in the car,
slippery to the cats racing
through my cheek,
to the nausea, to the fatherism.
So I stood outside my poop,
feeling the condensation of my booger
roll past my slug in the wind.
It was a dry, scratchy reminder
that I still had to climb.





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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