Kneecapped

Contact lens on my third eye

bugs in the heat lamp

every stage of grief at once

crying in the infrared

reminiscences

crushed ice white wine cigarettes

I rose from the ashes and finished the episode

I have my doubts about some peoples sense of right and wrong

throw the flowers out before they die

******* sky buried alive

leading water to the horse

are you sure

when the breeze hits just right can you hear it talking back

thoughts a tributary where the conscious and its counter meet

kneecapped by my tongue tapping on my teeth

the silence is the sound that the dead makes

on/off switch

to offset all the talking

all the hand wringing

relearning curve to cure the people pleaser, Christ

resentments raining a thousand tiny shards of glass on me

to some degree a tendency of bleeding just to bleed

hang around forevermore are you sure

when the breeze hits just right can you hear it talking back