4/28/2015

Your Favorite Weapon (Poem)

Your Favorite Weapon

You’re well-versed in sad songs
words that make me cry on purpose
the strumming of a somber guitar
and the quiet solitude of your room.
Pot smoke fills the air

and we're isolated.
The ceiling fan spins a twister
of dust and debris
the speaker screams
distorted chaos

inside my head.
I can taste it

when you recite suicidal lyrics
my heart idles in the bass line
my body needs a jump start
my engine died
and so did I.
Well, I thought I died

but somehow, I still feel
better when I’m buried
six feet under your influence
and my mind is tuned
a bit off-key.

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