blankslate:

I talk about how I have cement in my veins.

I speak through my cracks.

I feel obvious, but you are oblivious. I’m sucking at the tips
of your fingers for a bit of empathy.  It tastes like two-thousand-year-old
honey preserved in Egyptian tombs.

I say, “Nothing is so important that we can’t wait”
and then I wait too long and then nothing is important at all.

When you put a stethoscope to my chest, you hear
television static and the tone of a phone off its hook.

I am too simple.

I am California after the big one.
I am my childhood home on the edge of the San Andreas fault.
I am floating away into the Pacific
while people with instruments shake their heads and say

“I told you so”.