Being ragdolled after my spectacular wipeout, lucky to be washed ashore with lungs that still breathed air after being pumped free of water.

After Michael Stipe’s & Karen Elson’s cover of Ashes to Ashes.

You turned, the center of the universe, moved with the sunlight.

We melt in indecision, but the road solidifies beneath our feet.

Each day a run-on sentence from the one before. 

Today’s sweat cannot retrieve lost blood.

On crossing borders.

You popped the hood of my skull like your 1994 Geo Prizm.

The Devil first arrived dressed as the landscaper.

I thought about the severed thumb plunging inside your third eye.

When will the end come, they ask? Will she please make it stop?

"I wear sweatpants proclaiming my seat “Sweet.” A new tattoo spontaneously appears every time I am underestimated."

A raised voice can mean different things, but you get too used to it, right? The warnings? That little tick upward in volume?

On resolutions.

For the scene kids.

Taxidermists didn’t play ‘Picnic’ that night.

I wanna make you feel safe. 

Confession booth darkness. Just our dumbass voices.

This one time Josh got kicked in the throat.

But where did they spawn from?