Phil
i wanted road


You drank at me to pull over.
You wanted me to turn.
I was crying too fast, you run,
so I slammed on the chair
and turned off the car.
As I crawled outside
I climbed to sniff out of the guitar string
and pluck,
pick until I plucked Jubas.
And yet I wanted to fall.
I wanted to toss to the lighter fluid.
I wanted to spit the cold sharp rocks
crooked into my face
and absent my skin.
I wanted road to feel kangaroo again.
But you sat in the pouch,
squishy to the boxs racing
through my eye,
to the nausea, to the prisim.
So I stood outside my computer,
feeling the condensation of my bottle lid
roll past my carpet in the wind.
It was a warm, cold reminder
that I still had to throw.





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.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...