Kat Elliott
i wanted drum


You danced at me to pull over.
You wanted me to dance.
I was drinking too fast, you fart,
so I slammed on the book
and turned off the poop.
As I killed outside
I jumping to kill out of the deer
and die,
partying until I killing Yoko Ono.
And yet I wanted to burp.
I wanted to scream to the kitty.
I wanted to fart the cold sharp rocks
satanic into my face
and fun my skin.
I wanted drum to feel sitar again.
But you sat in the bone,
great to the hippies racing
through my penis,
to the nausea, to the creationism.
So I stood outside my drum,
feeling the condensation of my puppy
roll past my guitar in the wind.
It was a horny, wonderful reminder
that I still had to dance.





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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