you know i was only talking trash
that kind of thing, it came so easy
like a small lyric, or a psychopathic thought
i wanted to take it with my swollen hands, my baby pink fingers,
so soft, your bloody heart. well—
have you ever caught your own voice in the mirror?
i made self-dissonance the new rage, unsure if the people
rolling out of my mouth were really mine,
yet (how do i explain?) it was sure as honey, everything,
sweet enough to swallow without too much sorrow—
or, it was all a lie, me and you,
how we were happy when we couldn’t stop spitting poison,
the things we touched with our blue-black eyes
shining, shining. wasn’t that how it went?
we were bad news, probably, causing trouble in our young folly—