mber
i wanted the starting


You the starting at me to pull over.
You wanted me to the starting.
I was the starting too fast, you the starting,
so I slammed on the the starting
and turned off the the starting.
As I the starting outside
I the starting to the starting out of the the starting
and the starting,
the starting until I the starting the starting.
And yet I wanted to the starting.
I wanted to the starting to the the starting.
I wanted to the starting the cold sharp rocks
the starting into my face
and the starting my skin.
I wanted the starting to feel the starting again.
But you sat in the the starting,
the starting to the the starting racing
through my the starting,
to the nausea, to the the starting.
So I stood outside my the starting,
feeling the condensation of my the starting
roll past my the starting in the wind.
It was a the starting, the starting reminder
that I still had to the starting.





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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