This aint a eulogy. This aint a hymn. This is a grocery list of a nail-biter and
her best friends.
-blender
-carrots
-shrooms
-society
-neighbors
That aint bluffs. I know a crisis when I see one and
you’re pushing its meds. Nine lives down you think you’ll never come
home with your hair tied behind your shoulders and a few drunk kisses on
your ankles. Have I knocked you out cold yet? Do you feel gravity when you’re
pushed to the top floor and gravity is so close, my friend. So close. And so cold.
Lyings upon lyings. Percocet upon Percocet. Bible stories
aren’t cutting it for you & me and are____(??). I need a few pounds to soften up the truth.
She said, “It’s simple really”. Inhale. Exhale.
You make me feel like a pocket weighed down by nothing but
dimes. Everyone would say, “That’s too many dimes”. They are so wrong. So wrong.
You’re a letter from all the people who used to love me but
under too many envelopes. I keep telling myself, “That’s too many envelopes”. And I’m so wrong. I’m so wrong. Inhale.
Exhale.
Your little brother. He’s living with too many paper cuts. Your mother is concerned, “Honey are you
getting these at school?”. It’s really too many paper cuts. “Maybe we should
hold him back a year.” “I’m not sure he likes arts and crafts”. She is so
wrong. We are so wrong.
Inhale. Exhale.
Exhale.
I was really just trying to call your bluffs.
wtf miss carter rly what
