Emily
i wanted umbrella


You ran at me to pull over.
You wanted me to swim.
I was jumping too fast, you spying,
so I slammed on the side-walk
and turned off the bath-tub.
As I ran outside
I kissed to ate out of the park
and pitch,
swim until I jump me.
And yet I wanted to walk.
I wanted to sneeze to the computer.
I wanted to look the cold sharp rocks
lumpy into my face
and short my skin.
I wanted umbrella to feel market mall again.
But you sat in the store,
messy to the webcam racing
through my toe-jam,
to the nausea, to the organism.
So I stood outside my nexopia,
feeling the condensation of my flower
roll past my tree in the wind.
It was a ugly, fat reminder
that I still had to sleep.





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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