first error, believing my guise of patience to be a coat of acceptance. there’s a rack hung in my closet smelling of cover’s mistakenly judged and bargain buys. hey if it fits you wear it and i wear it worn without posture. from corners i see you circling like a shark. i might be bleeding but i’ve yet bled out. call me twisted but i’m head over heels with the notion you believe you call the shots. oh babe you carry the big stick and that’s well and fine because the words i set up perfectly will never reach you anyway. collision of wills a sharp crack much like the tearing of my meniscus, an awful sort of reverberation through the flesh signaling that all is definitely not alright. and so we careen and to the lazy eye we are spheres, plummeting, burning up but i prefer to think we probe signals like lost satellites. your loops tighten the table and i know you’re searching an angle to put me away for good. so like you to overlook my sense of fashion for while you think you’ve dressed me down i’ve pulled the wool over your eyes and as i go screaming into darkness you can bet sure as shit i’m taking you with me.
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