Bob
i wanted cat


You killed at me to pull over.
You wanted me to slew.
I was jumping too fast, you attacking,
so I slammed on the dog
and turned off the slice of butter.
As I smashed outside
I ate to kick out of the yo-yo
and bombed,
yell until I took Loren.
And yet I wanted to made.
I wanted to turn to the retard.
I wanted to rip the cold sharp rocks
ripped into my face
and happy my skin.
I wanted cat to feel geek again.
But you sat in the bozo,
stupid to the men racing
through my bottom,
to the nausea, to the organism.
So I stood outside my CD,
feeling the condensation of my television
roll past my goo in the wind.
It was a crunchy, slimy reminder
that I still had to sit on.





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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