HOME IS WHERE THE BUGS ARE ! ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ

somethings we are to take for granted

last nite i went cryin' in the trader joe's parking lot, sobbed until my head came away dented by the steering wheel, red and angrier.

i went inside and bathed in the fluorescents, bought an apple because to eat fruit is to eat something that bites back, and then i listened to the streetlights buzz for as long as i could stand.

"i feel like a cog in a machine whose purpose i don't know." we're all sifting through memories we'd wish we hadn't remembered, it's all a black hole of lies.

i put the car out of park, even though i've never learned to trust myself driving at night, it's all too dreamy for me. too many stars out tonight, i think the shine distracts me.

if you cut open my heart i think you'd find bugs. isn't that a masterpiece of something?

i don't know, i don't know.
but down the street there are houses that still have christmas lights in february and i think i saw my third-grade science teacher in the cheese aisle and i think she looked at me like i was a ghost, i should have told her sorry, but i opened my mouth and it was too full of cotton to talk.

good lord im back with paper bags and pixie-lipped dreams and my car won't fit in the garage like it used to, i've always been too big for my bones.