Spending time in books and boxes
living elsewhere, re-crafting memories
venue midnights, parental hitch-hikes
as if it were better, as if
my desolate orphaned misery
was at all worth it
if I had my drinking weekends
my fields, tents, and lock-ins

I’ve a half-life, a family
and yet I still live nostalgically
sticking glitter into my bloody knees
as if it weren’t a nightmare
as if it were ever good to me



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