Jun 07

it was me

my eyelid is so soft in the bent ikea light.

quickly, that i'll bend to gum. turn to analysis and that’s what keeps me there, i’d burn the glass as the kitchen scale
i’d like to know the raw egg of my mind. i wish you’d run it under cold water and return it to my forehead, dripping from the sink (i fall asleep on my hand and pulled back hair)
i wish it was me.