How do I compete with you?
My head down; hair lacing a frosted door,
stumbling around a supermarket, pissed.
Bloodshot, angry, giggling all the same.
I need to feel again; sharp cinders in my lungs,
exasperate, fall back on the plastic floor,
pucker my lips to you in the florescence.
I need to explain.
But I digress; take my pasty limbs and words
to work, stare at a spider in a window frame,
become obsessed with it, and chew my pens,
until they burst on my chin. Objectively -
I remain, and twirl gooey paints around the hairs
of pathos, flicking through magazines,
make romantic claims, fuck around, and
buy a projector; a million ways of being the same.
Collect, display -
It hits my teeth, reeling in and out,
twirling in the aisles. Cutting Edge...
Don’t ever call me again.