some days in the dim lit scenery
that surrounds my catastrophe
i find myself thinking of you.
there, in that slow motion lapse of time
i wonder if you’re thinking of me too,
and i hope those memories fucking burn;
i hope they hurt like
the hell i keep falling into.
i used to clench my hands
praying you’d find happiness,
to the point of blood loss and numbness,
but now i’m not even close to sorry
when i say
i don’t give a fuck
if you’re hurt, alone, and used-
you have it coming;
five knuckles of karma
to your heavy breathing,
bull-fucking-shit of a mentality.
yeah, i am a dick, but you my dear
are a world class