by Nick Flynn
My fingers
cling to your shoulder blades now
until fucking becomes
an urging, a way to shake you, gently. How
can I tell you I don't feel
safe, when inside
a man holds bars before his face
believing himself into a prison,
when parrots fly from his open mouth
as he tries to speak, repeating worthless,
worthless? I'm trying to love you
but I don't know how, & then
I start to remember we are locked together
& pushing, pushing.
--
"I need one more fucking hit!"
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