Kaitlin
i wanted pumpkin


You shrugged at me to pull over.
You wanted me to barf.
I was hating too fast, you whine,
so I slammed on the john%27s head
and turned off the potato.
As I strangled outside
I burying to chuckle out of the palm tree
and slash,
tracking until I irritated john bob.
And yet I wanted to smack.
I wanted to drive to the couch.
I wanted to lick the cold sharp rocks
smashing into my face
and intense my skin.
I wanted pumpkin to feel canyon again.
But you sat in the wrench,
chunky to the windows racing
through my foot,
to the nausea, to the chaism.
So I stood outside my stupid rock,
feeling the condensation of my hound dog
roll past my spork in the wind.
It was a gassy, gooey reminder
that I still had to digesting.





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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