1. |
grieving
01:04
|
|||
(these are like bookends of great trauma
so you're kind of brought up by no one)
(re-parent yourself)
one mother cold (gut-wrenching anger)
in a casket
five minutes from here
another too
cold and still breathing
as distant as she's ever been (just grieving, which is appropriate)
and i'm tired of her
(you didn't know half the time whether you were gonna live or die. who am i? who do i belong to? it's like an orphan. even orphans have more consistency, is what i'm getting.)
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2. |
hot steel
02:13
|
|||
been watching water boil while
hovering over the stovetop
practicing some type of patience
to understand the process of getting
hot and hotter
sleeping head to face
separation and shared beds
talk of young promiscuity
this tightly-tangled web
so long as everyone
is good to each other
|
||||
3. |
greens
01:23
|
|||
i am so glad
i never
ran away with
you would have
eaten
anything i
birthed
anyway
spit out
anything i
grew
recalcitrant in your
bitter nature
so spiteful and
with pursed lips
i wish i
could hurt you
bite at your
premature ears and
scratch at your
chest i
didn't mean to
but it
got easy
|
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4. |
illuminate//eradicate
01:35
|
|||
i see you
in glowing blacktop
lit pink
i am producing your scent
and i wander too - alone...
eyes like stagnant clamshells
batted
slowly
lightly
like trying to gain
the trust of a feral cat
a lure disguised as calming
but i am diminishing
a lure disguised as calming
as i diminish
|
||||
5. |
||||
not doing very well
and i know it to be
far too true but i am trying
to stop worrying
and eating more than i need to
climbing down
out of bed without
grunts and
stretching my back
some times a day
ending the entirety of
self-deprecation and
minimal fulfillment
having more things to talk about
other than how
fucked-up i am
because i've been
drinking all day or
crawling for years
maintaining some type of
motivation to lunge
towards spaces containing
more than one pal in
a bathroom keeping me stable
|
||||
6. |
dirty water line
04:10
|
|||
sensitive to talk of
death and mourning
now empty homes away
from the northern
haven i continue to flee to
as my only practical
destination of choice
open fields through a
rolled-down window to see
nature in real color
all i think about is fucking
in them. grabbing
onto untamed
grass in search of
some type of romance to
make-up for the string
of lack i know
mid-sections as they
respond to stimuli -
arousal, yellows and blues and
not enough water
lack of hunger
wearing the same shirt for
four days in a row
figuring out your
own scent
longing for your own bed
and a curly hair to twirl in
tips of fingers
push behind ears
dirty water to stand in
another body, wading
and waiting
|
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