dope sick

youd be different too

art by author

something about sitting
in the street.
or on a sofa.
something.
no, someone,
sick with it.
dried up, dripping
sick with it.
you wouldnt know it if it
was painted on you like a
mural of a murder scene.
your green grass and
littered lips.
your bold body,
holding like a cannon
in the Seven Years’ War.
patriot.
pardon me.
im drenched in sedition.

sorrys.
its the streets.
they washed away
an army of me.
40 bats to the hat.
youd be different too.
maybe its the medicine.
or the weakness of wanting.
whatever, i was thinking
about a time that was taken
too far.
you cant blurt those things out.
its like asking the rain to
bathe in its own blood.
its brutal and stupid and
know one cares to know
more than theyre aware of.
it was a time.