winter of 2019
When you say something once,
the universe will repeat it back.
My mind is like a tube of Chapstick,
sometimes brand-new waiting to battle flakey biscuit lips.
Other times left in my pocket,
washed and dried, stick in the lid, damp and suicidal.
I’ll use it in desperation,
leaving water streaks on my lips like a water color brush stroke.
In the summer though it flows naked,
among crumbs in the center console.
Waiting for the one day when my hand reaches in,
my fingernails will glisten from the Chap Stick bleed out victim.
I’ll try to scoop the inners back into the shell,
then rub the remains on my lips.
When you say something once,
the universe will repeat it back.
My mind is like a tube of Chapstick,
sometimes brand-new waiting to battle flakey biscuit lips.
Other times left in my pocket,
washed and dried, stick in the lid, damp and suicidal.
I’ll use it in desperation,
leaving water streaks on my lips like a water color brush stroke.
In the summer though it flows naked,
among crumbs in the center console.
Waiting for the one day when my hand reaches in,
my fingernails will glisten from the Chap Stick bleed out victim.
I’ll try to scoop the inners back into the shell,
then rub the remains on my lips.