Trevor
i wanted turd


You ran at me to pull over.
You wanted me to shoot.
I was flowing too fast, you run,
so I slammed on the popcorn
and turned off the sister.
As I humped outside
I humped to played out of the house
and run,
walk until I stopped Nick.
And yet I wanted to punch.
I wanted to kick to the dog.
I wanted to hump the cold sharp rocks
greenish into my face
and brown my skin.
I wanted turd to feel poop pile again.
But you sat in the shoe,
fat to the shoes racing
through my penis,
to the nausea, to the budism.
So I stood outside my card,
feeling the condensation of my blanket
roll past my pillow in the wind.
It was a beautiful, sexy reminder
that I still had to ate.





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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