Plainclothes

you cracked open my head and my chest and painted this film with whatever spilled out, carmen emmi. under the blinding glare of bare bulbs at the top, the counting from who-knows-what to who-knows-when; the lies, the believing, the running, the hiding, the silences, the shouting. living the same scenes over and over inside your fucking mind. stepping through a broken mirror into alice’s not-so-wonderful wonderland. a ringing in my ears from past: on one side kendrick lamar-“i hope you find some peace of mind in this lifetime,” on the other carol-“dearest, there are no accidents,” and so much more bleeding through. the things i said, the things i couldn’t, the things that were said to me. those who found their san francisco, and those who didn’t. after that, silence.