the inside of my mouth is pasty and lousy,
it feels like I ran sandpaper on it for fun.
there's a heaviness in my chest I can't shake.
I haven't written like this in year.
I'll wear my grandma's scarf, I'll wear a coat that doesn't fit me.
I don't think I have it in me.
I'll wear lipstick, I'll wear boots
I don't think I have it in me.
It feels like I'm writing a story I never begun,
I don't think I have it in me.
the nights get longer and I feel my eyelids struggle to close at night.
May, yes, my dismay,
never again, I thought the disdain was over a few years ago
but I guess it follows like a burden:
there's something that prevents me from going the right path.
what is it? what the fuck is it?
maybe I think maybe it's
laziness,
maybe I'm a little too sharp to be at the gym all day,
fear,
or that people will have something to say.
what does one need to do to shake off the fear?
it rattles and rattles and it shakes and it never wears off
then it sticks to my ribs and pokes a hole
my mouth is dry and my teeth got darker
my lips are chapped, my hair is thinner