Empty Stanzas

[paci_violence]

Why does
the sound of cold linoleum shifting under my weight
fuse together with the smell of rain
if it's just going to rip the air from my heart
as I start thinking I've got a hold on things?

Why am I still in this gutted truck?
Life experience like half inch gravel
flying up to crack every last
piece of beveled glass
I've stacked on these
threadbare wheels.

Where is the river?
Is it just dust now?
Just dust,
and fingerprints,
and stale pasta?

Why are the sheets even clean?
I don't care anymore.
Or I care so much it's killing me,
and that's even worse.
Caught up in a bird song so inspiring it makes me want to either give birth
or shoot myself.
Steal love from myself.

I want a broken record for Christmas.
Why do we call them broken when they still play?
Just because it's not the parts we want to hear?

I know broken
and it's not as glorified
as good poetry.