this, taken the time to look backward, taste the blood

but really certainly never living in that dust land and
broken hands
my girl says sometimes she thinks bout leaving
sometimes i wonder why, nicorette chewed, limbs numbed
can’t spell, can’t read right. left. undone again
i’m sick of the goddamned cycle. bicycling down to the
can’t breathe sometimes when he is here
but even then all the others bob up like stryofoam sunken
i need a gun to shoot them down, I need my mouth to power that gun
i need some fun to spark that fire, that leaves my mouth working
my brain moving
my head stop spinning