I started smoking again just to prove how over you I am.
I found 5 pointed stars in my bed,
Tore my sheets and poked microscopic holes in my mattress.
A dip in the terrain for every night you’ve spent.
I sleep over 3D maps and contemplate earthquakes now.
The mountains you created make knots in my back,
My lows don’t feel so low anymore;
While the highs,
Hurt a hell of a lot more
Than the lows
I went to an estate sale.
A woman was selling a baby blue guitar.
“It’s yours — I’m moving to Aruba.”
And off I went with baby blue in hand.
As Blue as an Aries,
was the name of the band.
There was a boy in navy blue swim trunks playing in a South Jersey blue hole.
I blushed at the site of him — pink.
I put down my guitar and started to paint my hair shades of blue.
Streaky and soft,
like watercolor ink.
I found a man in orange,
offering me warm bearded kisses.
I didn’t want them but I was cold.
“This could be a good move for me,” I thought.
I went to the bathroom to wash the paint out,
but the whole room was blue.
I lost my grandmother’s ring.
The one with the rose quartz
and silver wire wrap.
I’m kneeling on my carpet
looking for wet spots.
I’m always picking up and putting down
such odd flavors.
I love boys with bad skin
who sweat violence
ignite the switch
play with their hair
spit with fury
throw up on my front steps
and try to sleep with me.
A filthy pattern.
It drags me through the god damn mud
the god damn mud.
I cannot hide the fire
that drives me.
It is lustful and all encompassing.
It smolders and burns
and when it hits the oxygen
curls into the night sky
reaches into the atmosphere.
It is wild and untamed.
It is desperate for release,
as am I.
It wants to take the city whole.