Saturday, April 7, 2012


i have dreams of killers who slice people with ease, as if they were
meat. as if their eyes were your eyes but the shape of something
sharp. i wake up. i sleep. it continues. this is the movie with
multiple endings but they all contain me standing on a empty highway
near a desert with my insides in my hands.

i will not overthink this. you are autumn when the leaves begin to
crunch. you are the smell of burnt damp air. i am not the pieces of
furniture in your house. i am not the emoticon at the end of the
message. i am the ring left on the table that you can't get rid of. i
am the error response. the leaves crunch, my palms under your feet.

the medicine is in short supply. so are poems. so are coherent
thoughts. inhale inhale. swoosh. sound effects sountracking downhill
motions. the human sled.

this is an attack. i meant to trip. i meant to tell you that i love
this i promise. i meant to be this way i promise. scraping up the
pieces, like i am roadkill for breakfast. breathe. this is the chase
where no one gets caught.

pretend to listen. i cannot get to you i cannot reach i cannot pull. i
can not fucking get you. i am talking to everyone. i am talking to
everyone. the end credits roll and everyone saw it coming. how could i
not be prepared. the closing song plays. listen with your lids sealed,
with your smile stretching like the cut in my throat. the drug is the
chase. it's the knot in the rope.

--Karissa Satchwell

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