poetryfromthesky:

My mother thinks I have narcolepsy but I told her to let me walk backwards and roll my eyes into my skull. I’m not her good dog and I’m not a sacred palindrome but I go to bed and I wake up and I eat love to the bone. 

Wallflower girl, you sacrificial lamb, you scapegoat, be careful: I love you drips from my lips like foam and the bloody syllables will stain your bedsheets and no amount of advil can cure a bite to the jugular.

I try to swallow everyone I love but they get stuck in my teeth like dried flowers to a journal page, you can only see them when I snarl. I loved them like a coyote loves the careless deer on the side of the road.

I should’ve waited for the full moon and I should’ve died at sixteen and I should’ve hit God back so we’d have something to talk about. I’ve been practicing being violence, have you noticed?

Everything is a metaphor for itself so I’m digging your heart out with a knife. And anyways, what are men to wolves?

-Charlie

2/12/21