Pressure Switch

You have been brewing
in a cauldron of self loathing
with your head in the ground.
blocking out the rays of the sun
peeling back layers of atmosphere
to reach out and taint your skin
from white to grey.
How it must feel to live in the deep space.

The heavy weight
butterflies feel in death throes
on an african coast
beg to differ with my afternoon planner.
The thunder from car bumpers in the distance
flashing lights
and vomiting monsters in the fresh moonlight.
The steam is lifting from the streets.
I like to think the city's soul is escaping.

Finally put to rest for an evening.

The sounds of clanking metal
and snapped carpel bones
are the soundtrack to my astronaut vacation.
I exist around places you would know or go
but the copper taste in my mouth
has a different frequency only dogs can hear.

The green grass
from the devils garden
floods the entry to my holy temple
I witness the world from the reflection
of the panel glass in the witching hour.
3:33
73F
--:--
:
All the lights go out
the air is a musty southern hint of rough sex
and painkillers.
She would always tell me about the ways
the scars on my body reminded her of ex lovers.

How they were so much better
and the way the stars collapsed when my eyes rolled back
and stopped giving a fuck
a head injury for a headache.
a broken rib for a heartbreak
a cast for a curse.
I will always be a friend
you remember in daydreams or
on deathbeds.