Alyssa
i wanted getaway


You made at me to pull over.
You wanted me to leave.
I was sleeping too fast, you travel,
so I slammed on the train
and turned off the cushion.
As I torn outside
I fucked to love out of the fear
and glow,
type until I cleaned mom.
And yet I wanted to miss.
I wanted to sweep to the cardboard box.
I wanted to close the cold sharp rocks
wavy into my face
and dusty my skin.
I wanted getaway to feel photograph again.
But you sat in the rug,
metallic to the books racing
through my wrist,
to the nausea, to the materialism.
So I stood outside my keyboard,
feeling the condensation of my smile
roll past my paint in the wind.
It was a round, flat reminder
that I still had to duck.





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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