Children hang from ropes in concrete caverns under the city. A shadow shape moves in the water below.
There is a gun in the river.
I hum a tune that keeps me safe in the dark.
Daylight splinters on the bright mowed lawn, concealing a death struggle between the centipede and cockroach.
Not much of a fight, the cockroach always dies.
Some dude tried to grope me on the ferris wheel. Said he’d hurt my mother if I told anyone.
I showed him that I could make the car flip upside down if I wanted.
We called it a draw and went our separate ways.
Sprinklers shower cold water on the concealing grass.
Inside, the kids are ditching school. Smoking cigarettes, fucking, and snorting crushed up diet pills.
The vacant lots and alleys hide kidnapped children, and severed ears.
Through the keyhole, I see him stuffing the curtain sash into her mouth. Something is moving behind the statues, the priest doesn’t see it.
A string of burning bleach bottles drip slow into a bucket of water. I alternate breathing the plastic fumes and the glue in a paper bag.
Evil is real. But not as tall as it looks on TV. That is why it hides under my bed.
We were friends until he started screaming at me to pull the belt tighter while he put the needle in.
Fuck, who needs that kind of stress.
I just watched when they beat his face into the picnic table for stealing mescaline from a baby.
There is a demon in the sea cave. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get him to look at me.
Something circles the teepee in the dark, the dogs hide behind me and stop barking. I tap the barrel of the gun against me teeth.
Sometimes I get that sharky feeling on dry land. On the ice, in the desert, deep in the crater, there are hungry things that need to feel what it means to be alive. They will attach them selves.
Beware of strangers in lonely places and stay on the path. Not all of those rocks are rocks.
I sat for hours handcuffed to the metal bench while they went through my wallet.
I hum a tune that keeps me safe in the dark.
The tea bag is dried in the cup, the entire cigarette sat and burned to a long perfect ash. This is where someone died thirty years ago.
A voice is reading aloud from a bible, it does not bring me any comfort.
I dropped the gun in the river.
Standing on the tracks, people up on the platform are taunting me to touch the third rail. I can feel the air beginning to move in the tunnel.
It was never my gun.
There is a gun in the river.
I hum a tune that keeps me safe in the dark.
Daylight splinters on the bright mowed lawn, concealing a death struggle between the centipede and cockroach.
Not much of a fight, the cockroach always dies.
Some dude tried to grope me on the ferris wheel. Said he’d hurt my mother if I told anyone.
I showed him that I could make the car flip upside down if I wanted.
We called it a draw and went our separate ways.
Sprinklers shower cold water on the concealing grass.
Inside, the kids are ditching school. Smoking cigarettes, fucking, and snorting crushed up diet pills.
The vacant lots and alleys hide kidnapped children, and severed ears.
Through the keyhole, I see him stuffing the curtain sash into her mouth. Something is moving behind the statues, the priest doesn’t see it.
A string of burning bleach bottles drip slow into a bucket of water. I alternate breathing the plastic fumes and the glue in a paper bag.
Evil is real. But not as tall as it looks on TV. That is why it hides under my bed.
We were friends until he started screaming at me to pull the belt tighter while he put the needle in.
Fuck, who needs that kind of stress.
I just watched when they beat his face into the picnic table for stealing mescaline from a baby.
There is a demon in the sea cave. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get him to look at me.
Something circles the teepee in the dark, the dogs hide behind me and stop barking. I tap the barrel of the gun against me teeth.
Sometimes I get that sharky feeling on dry land. On the ice, in the desert, deep in the crater, there are hungry things that need to feel what it means to be alive. They will attach them selves.
Beware of strangers in lonely places and stay on the path. Not all of those rocks are rocks.
I sat for hours handcuffed to the metal bench while they went through my wallet.
I hum a tune that keeps me safe in the dark.
The tea bag is dried in the cup, the entire cigarette sat and burned to a long perfect ash. This is where someone died thirty years ago.
A voice is reading aloud from a bible, it does not bring me any comfort.
I dropped the gun in the river.
Standing on the tracks, people up on the platform are taunting me to touch the third rail. I can feel the air beginning to move in the tunnel.
It was never my gun.
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