Just a Scalpel

Going 45 in a 25 mph zone.
The wind licking salt off my cheek.
Put on my favorite song,
wake me up before we crash.

I’m delicate, scared of shit,
terrified, not just a little bit.
I’m flimsy, timid and whimsical,
still clinging to the umbilical,
mesmerized by the empirical.
My eyes fried by the satirical,
the drive-thru Panera Bread.
The best hashish in Marrakech.
Sandwich and a side… soup du’ jour.
I’m yours, but you want more.
It’s not up for debate but it’s political.
Put me on an endangered list like a condor.
Holed up late night out on the balcony
of my condo… I’m gone, tho.

You can Instagram my ghost,
get thirteen ‘likes’ at the most
walk of shame in the morning
I’m making sourdough toast.

Old school like trolls under toadstools.

I’m a wet road, let go, slip and slide,
cars collide like mortgages and babies,
high investments between realtors…
sell me your secret, I’ll bury it in my heart,
we can dig it up when nobody’s looking,
It just takes a scalpel to make true love.

Cut and move, cut and move.
It’s Christmas, come be my Scrooge.
I’m on the rooftop licking the rain,
in the basement thinking of you.

33 tattoos tattooed to my chest,
on my tombstone, say I cried the best.

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