How many have I exploded?
In some twisted way—call it perversion, if you like—I must rip off limbs
to be a body;
I must kill my thoughts, my attachments, my link
to have a mind;
I must do to you—something horrible.
It’s too much real to feel—it’s sick. It’s fucked up.
I looked you in the eyes while you puked all night all morning and held your hair and said I want to take care of you—
at the back of my head my mind my thoughts my soul I wanted to stab you in the neck.
Come afternoon you left my room with a hangover to drive nine hours to visit your dying
Come afternoon you left my room with a hangover to drive nine hours to visit your dying
grandfather in Nevada and I heard that fucked up me say beware
I knew. I knew. I secretly knew.
I knew. I knew. I secretly knew.
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