Aaron
i wanted tube


You heated at me to pull over.
You wanted me to speak.
I was shipping too fast, you smoke,
so I slammed on the peach
and turned off the guitar.
As I listened outside
I finished to learn out of the football
and hit,
sit until I farted Mark.
And yet I wanted to play.
I wanted to drive to the fork.
I wanted to swat the cold sharp rocks
heavy into my face
and translucent my skin.
I wanted tube to feel pen again.
But you sat in the frog,
annoying to the trucks racing
through my knee,
to the nausea, to the neo-Platonism.
So I stood outside my printer,
feeling the condensation of my bush
roll past my grass in the wind.
It was a funny, weak reminder
that I still had to work.





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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