TWO WEEKS: PAH PAH PAH PAH

PRESS PLAY TO READ (written to music)

Do you have one of those that absolutely pulls, driving hard and hot and dry like a drag race, right out of your chest?

It’s almost right in between the tits, but slightly to the left. Mentally, you try to pull the draw strings back, clutch at threads to stuff it back in, and hope to close the loop, but it’s already raced out of your heart and hit the dust. It almost certainly sped out and bled you out on a dirt bike. Cavities cavities. As big as low, blood-red moons by the fucking beach.

I hate nostalgia. I love it. It’s just memories, okay.

It’s cool. I’m here where it’s lush and green and mine. And I am owning the hole that was left, or something. It was a stupid thing anyway. And what are your words but a method of working all this shit out of your heart from your head to your hands so you can throw it away. That way you can halt, put it down, and stop carrying it around.