Backseat Boy

17 5 1
                                    

Gaping. 

Somebody pulled the stitches

on your 

rag doll mouth.


Your head spins

on your neck 

just to keep up.


Your eyes engulf 

me like a cold

dark throat. Squeeze 


my guts

from afar like I'm a 

teen Scream


Queen

 writing on bathroom walls

wishing the ink was your blood;

She's too seen.

My Year of Unrest: a collection of poems I wrote in 2020Where stories live. Discover now