Jun 4
the city’s out cold
the moon cries
like it knows something
I don’t
phone rings—
I let it die
what’s left to say
we haven’t already killed
with silence
I’ve felt
everything
too many times
the cogs keep spinning
do more
be more
become less
until you’re
someone else
we work
we run
we laugh like it’s medicine
we forgive what we shouldn’t
forget what we can’t
always waiting
for something
that never shows up
do more
be more
end up
less
less sleep
less soul
less of whoever
you used to be
you wake up
in someone else’s
skin
every breath
spent
dumped
into some black hole
like maybe it’s listening
washed down
with cheap whiskey
and cigarettes
that stick to your fingers
work
run
pretend
we laugh
when we’re dying
it’s better for
company
makes it easier
to sit with people
