i think i'm paranoid. i think i spent too long in the wild. i don't know how to rearrange my bones to make everyone love me. i'm not brave enough to go deeper into the forest. i exist right on the edge where the fire flickers into flames i'm too scared to touch; right where life meets its end.
face me open-mouthed, spew out a web of deceit and false promises. i'll place them inside of me, you can take us both all at once. transform me into something masticated, something mistaken but universally known as yours.
i think i'm paranoid... fevered with luck, love, lust. won't you act accordingly when i bare my neck? i'll find a way to keep my blood running blue for you. i want you to only consume the ripest bits of me.
in hindsight, you might've been the paranoid one with all your back alley kisses and burying your aspirations out in the yard. will my bones rest there next? lay me down rosy cheeked and smooth, leave no trace behind. don't attempt to make a lover of me.
everyone was right, there is a before and after. trying to remember the before is as easy as finding bruises all over my body... hard to escape and always my fault. trying to explain the after comes out as 'do i make you feel safe?', 'do you believe you're a spectator to suffering?', or 'do you wanna go out west? we might not get far, but i don't mind the drive.'
the after is wandering into abandoned churches unable to decide if the third presence is god or someone we left behind. they all have matching wounds, shame on us for creating replicas. after is traveling down backroads pulling bodies close, skin even closer. we're facsimile gods starving away hysteria, preaching sermons into the ears of brief lovers.
i think i'm paranoid... i should have never opened that truck door. let me return to the locked house doors of a southern fantasy. i'm so alone out here without you, baby.