my left brain’s talking all of the time, a terrible master. like a fragile sheet of glass about to shatter. my right brain’s feeling all of the time, i’m only human. that work of art i’ll never make is always looming.

and a browser followed me out to my car and scribbled down digits in the frigid dark; she was squinting.

please don’t be asphyxiated by his charm. i know your art school boy friend wears his conscience on his arm. ON HIS ARM. i see you swinging your sanctimonious sward. and i’ve grown so despondent and bored. PLAYING GAMES.

and i know you’ll never pierce any meaty flesh and you’ll nip at the heels of those vegetarian fed. yeah, you’re strategy will never amount to much, but at least i’m a target you can touch.