Floor level me.

My ankles, are, I don't know,
so much more sore, than any sore I've ever known,
broken, maybe, in little pressure breaks, like
you dancers and jocks seem so sure about,
so glib in hindsight, like medals, like yeah,
like to brag about, compare about,
like I hate. Like, I've avoided for this reason,
because fuck this. I was skinny and active before
this. So, take your little challenges and carb
whatevers, and put them in a hospital file
with all the other things that hurt, and, if you
can bend, have a seat, let me regale you with,
how now, as I write this, my belly hangs over my
belt, and my ankles wrapped in gauze, and, unrelated,
my haircut is busted, and I screamed at the mirror
today, and broke part of it, and maybe, things, are,
spiraling,
a little bit, out of control.

We roll.

I can feel your beating heart,
little bird,
I'm scared, too.
If I pretend
everything is,
like, cool,
then,
are we cool?

Little mama.

Little mama,
there's a flower in the hallway,
says, why don't you come meet me,
sometime?
Little mama,
I'm so sorry,
for the times that I was,
mad.
I know,
that I bring the black days,
on.

And all I know, is all I know,
is all I know.
And I know, I know.
And all I have seen,
is misery.
Seems to get the best of me.
Hey mama,
hey mama,
let me know.

Hey mama,
there's a tiny sound,
in the back of my head.
It says, ooh! oh!
And the birds are chirping!
And I laid down in the bed,
and I said,
ooh! I close my eyes
and I will wait for morning rise,
and then I said,
ooh weh hee ooh hey!

Mama, I been searching for so long.

I seen you come along,
seen you made me happy.
I seen that things gone wrong,
we both fall down.
Oh! Can we come up together?
I don't know.
'Cause you made me someone,
you no longer want to know.
'Cause you made me be someone,
who turn you down,
who made you sad,
brought you down,
made you mad,
we fought along the way.

And I don't know.
I dont know.
And I don't know.
Well, I don't know,
and I don't know.

Holler.

Holler. Hallelujah.
Lately, I been trying to
holler to you.
I know that I get down, but,
I'll be alright for now.

Promise that you'll call
next time you come to town.

I promise you,
all the drinks will be on me,
and thanks for the company.

Seems the rain has stopped
for now,
guess I'll be heading out.

This.

"this is what a ghost is"

I talk to me.

The scale tells me I am 17 pounds heavier,
than a year ago. And two years older.
I do not play guitar, very much.
I am not painting enough.

There is a tiny switchblade,
inside my gut.

My brain is making some plan,
but in secret, so I only
know that it is every excited,
and that is not enough information,
because my brain can get
very excited
for bad reasons.

From bones.

We stayed at a hotel, in a psychic town, that claimed
to be haunted, where once inside, we were all lulled
into immediate sleep, and I awoke, haunted by the
surety that I had wasted my life, and these words:
this is what a ghost is.