sometimes i
get mad that
i’ve made some
wrong and worthless words
that are in the worthless and wrong order
because they go on too long
and i am reminded that
out there somewhere
it all already exists
i just need to find a way
to bring it back from disorder
to write in spite of writing
and the spit of it
that makes me drool dumb
over this wronged worthlessness
where saliva is salvation
the baptism in oneself
for oneself to write
the worthy and wrong
*
my nerves weigh
me down with thoughts
of what i could be
if i just stripped
this real world that feels
fake until i wore myself
down
hands to nubs
nubs to lubs
just a heart that
doesn’t beat all that well
without the whole around
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