My sisters middle name like an ice pick between the coughing. by Karissa LaRoque Lyrics
I know you love your mother, but my father fell face-first into a smashed beer bottle and he only has one eye now
I sent a birthday card to the place I first learned to French kiss, that day my brother came home with a report card and a broken arm.
The wet light falls on to your unmade bed and you feel moved to write that there are twenty-two ways in which the rain has left you
Every time there's a storm the journals reject eighty-seven terrible poems called "Rain."
Your hand is covered in red, a cat in heat at your feet, loving figure-eights of desperation around your boots
The soup boils over while you rub the black clots between your fingers.
Did you know that when you talk about your days you describe in intricate detail where you have been, and at what time?
You walk really fast when you don't know I'm behind you.
I know that the drops fell like beauty and that there is no way to understand how it feels on the nape of your neck if you have long hair.
I am sorry no one liked your poem about the rain.
I sent a birthday card to the place I first learned to French kiss, that day my brother came home with a report card and a broken arm.
The wet light falls on to your unmade bed and you feel moved to write that there are twenty-two ways in which the rain has left you
Every time there's a storm the journals reject eighty-seven terrible poems called "Rain."
Your hand is covered in red, a cat in heat at your feet, loving figure-eights of desperation around your boots
The soup boils over while you rub the black clots between your fingers.
Did you know that when you talk about your days you describe in intricate detail where you have been, and at what time?
You walk really fast when you don't know I'm behind you.
I know that the drops fell like beauty and that there is no way to understand how it feels on the nape of your neck if you have long hair.
I am sorry no one liked your poem about the rain.