Jul 17, 2017
Cleaning the numbers from beneath my finger nails with my canine teeth
I hold condensation.
These tears are made for
evaporation. Salt for the dogs to lick and
the ceiling holds my thoughts by
caving in.
I am looking for
luck on the black market
and buying lab-made chaos instead
of swallowing my own insanity.
The callouses on my feet
look like lost Wednesdays.
I do not know how to stop loving
my own destruction. There are
two souls inside of me and neither
fights for redemption.
I tear my face at the seams
and the rest of my body
collapses. My lips don’t fit my
annotations. And it collects
beneath my ribs; condensation.
