saturday, save me from myself.
brain eating drive inside out.
numbers crumble in me.
imagine a drone tone.
that’s what my head feels like.
not giving up.
more lip biting.
exhaustion eats my skin.
hair is knotted everywhere.
can’t comb something like that out.
can’t comb out the things you live.
they get tangled.
lost in space.
sometimes that space is your body.
your body holds the things you’ve lived.
hair that even after washed holds thursday night.
feet that hold lovers and the dance floors where you held them.
lips that hold cold lonely air.
eyes that hold conversation through laptop screens.
hands that hold coffees chugged and pens scribbled.
lungs that hold the words that had no effect.
a stomach that holds the sugar I crave.
muscles that hold memories, of choreography and intimacy.
a neck that holds the discovery of my latest fettish.
where does that fetish come from?
the fetish feeds on what my body holds.
so you like to be choked?
he asked through his teeth, smirking, sitting on my chest.
i nod, feeling the blood unable to reach my brain flood to everything else.
tension held and given.
so you like it when it hurts?
i guess you learn something new every day.