i dont feel at home in this world anymore

Untitled Part 6

there is a saint

for our ups and our downs

and counterclockwise

this place wracks terror

shear the mirrors off my car

with the

boarded up highway

narrowing

swerve me feel

me

pearled tears of

rounded bones

we sit on my bedroom floor

share a jar of flies

i feign to look at what you

have done to me

junkyard rubber we

stole from the back of the

Alamo

sticking like gum to the soles of our sneakers

better get bitter

i knew you before you were you

suffer-polished boots face away for me

and i soon only see the blackness