I don’t know what I’m doing.
This is indigestible. The movement of my guts.
Shifting of the heart into throat and the burn of acid where air once flowed.
The way I felt when we parted ways.
Look at me now. You’d be so proud.
But what’s left of us?
The scenery is stifling and your breath once draped around my neck.
Tight like thighs in late night dives and the satisfaction was that last cigarette.
Get off your hands and knees.
I’ll clean up the mess this time.
You couldn’t hold it all inside,
and you refused to swallow.
I don’t blame you.
I can’t digest no more, and I thought I was the whore.
That was a smokescreen.
Release me back into the wild.
The streets are alive.
I will always come crawling back.