The City Oughtta Tell You

It Would Take A Little Second To Break You

i feel maybe i am damaging myself and i know my damage but this feeling still flies to the tip of me. and my damage is burning in buried places, cracking out at corners, cackling, croaking, breaking out slowly with each kick that crashes like a bucket i am swinging and every kick sends water flying. and every kick is something i knew and know but knowledge is funny because talk of the brain and change and reform does not mean the damage is done and the healing is healing.

and sometimes it may be the fact that feeling is undermined in a world where limbs are being bombed and bare stomachs are being eaten out and how can my full stomach and sleepful limbs mean anything, why are you still lying there with mouth open and wanting? you should be satisfied.

i should be satisfied.



i feel too close to be losing touch
by giving in, what am i giving up
am i losing way too much

and the feeling now is just the feeling that i'm tired of the wall i have built and i cannot keep filling my ribcages with rubble. especially not with oh i am just having a bad day a bad week a bad year, i am like everyone else, i am an artist. that one especially. the thought i've had that true art comes from sad places. it's true. it comes from true functioning places. and i say that i won't go without changing anything, and i stay in the space underneath the blanket. and i stay in the space underneath the cage. and i am heavy when i wanted to fly.