chad
i wanted door


You ran at me to pull over.
You wanted me to kick.
I was punching too fast, you jump,
so I slammed on the dildo
and turned off the pig.
As I flew outside
I jogged to eat out of the cow
and drink,
write until I sprayed Micheal Jackson.
And yet I wanted to call.
I wanted to talk to the phone.
I wanted to sleep the cold sharp rocks
hard into my face
and soft my skin.
I wanted door to feel table again.
But you sat in the card,
long to the roads racing
through my arm,
to the nausea, to the prism.
So I stood outside my goat,
feeling the condensation of my tv
roll past my fan in the wind.
It was a cold, wet reminder
that I still had to skip.





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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