Kyle
i wanted peanut butter


You watched at me to pull over.
You wanted me to cook.
I was eating too fast, you make,
so I slammed on the alcohol
and turned off the marijuana.
As I sliced outside
I smoked to lick out of the butter
and rub,
touch until I effed Mandy.
And yet I wanted to moan.
I wanted to eat to the Kyle.
I wanted to sing the cold sharp rocks
beautifully into my face
and amazing my skin.
I wanted peanut butter to feel smile again.
But you sat in the phone,
erect to the panties racing
through my stomach,
to the nausea, to the optimism.
So I stood outside my teeth,
feeling the condensation of my wristband
roll past my computer in the wind.
It was a perfect, sparkling reminder
that I still had to hump.





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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