Sometimes I make tea.
Lemon, with too much honey,
or peppermint cause I like
the way it makes my mouth tingle.
More often now though,
I drink bourbon and coke.
Food shopping I wander down the drink isle
and wonder what goes best with vodka.
Lately shopping for groceries is the only time
I think about killing people.
But that’s only because I’m not working right now.
Last 6 months w/ out you have mostly
been silence
and the occasional
3 day high
& I’m still wound tight
like twine.
The kind that looks strong and sturdy
but hurts your hands
w/ it’s thorns.
I’m used to taking care of everyone
but myself, &
have finally perfected
pushing the urge away, &
suicide has faded into that bluegrey blend.
It’s complicated things.
I thought we were all the same,
used to think everyone was out to get ya,
but that was just the streets talk’n.
(It’s taken a long time
to rub myself clean
but I still haven’t been able
to get under the nails.)
It’s made much more
bearable
and much more confusing.
I swear
at any minute
I’m gonna fucking snap–
and so are you.
Dinner is
quiet.
Uncomfortable.
I only feel young when
I break my favorite paintbrush
on purpose
take razor to canvas
cut out her face
& nail it to the wall alone.
Or when some guy in a bar
comes to flirt his whole body
shadowing mine.
He thinks it’s about “tricking” me
into fucking him.
I can change everything
but my face.