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fifth, dec rolling a joint to nurse the nausea, rubbing my ribs from being punched in the heart after i threatened to pee in her hair like her boyfriend, i feel torn. i wish i didn't think and rethink so much in obsession. i constantly wonder whether i've said too much, revealed something i wish i hadn't, but i'm tired and have little energy to edit the undesirable parts out of my side of the conversation. this is a pronounced pothole in the road: the honesty within me is runny like i've got a bad cold. flail as i might - my arms swinging to distract you - i cannot hide the true stories behind me. |