Our Own Persausion

There are tornadoes in the distance
And a cool dark rain.
I'm riding through fields
People follow, all the way
The tall grass slows
And moves me to pause
The winds move fast
Suspicion does not stop us
In an abandoned town, wounded
The signs swing and creak
And I'm not sure who destroyed who
Or if there's anything left to break.
Don't follow me
I'm not meant to be tread upon
And the earth falls upwards
The wind pushes down.
We are left eradicated
From our own persausion.

Trigger

On the grass.
I talk to the girl from last year.
She had straight lines on her face.
She didn't care.
I lay here on the bed.
My heart about to choke.
I don't read your broken letters.
I don't know your words.
They've all run me dry.
I hide every image you write.
You think it's about you.
It's not.
You don't listen.
You don't read.
Broken wrist.
I could have been anyone.
To you
I am the streetcar, the busted track.
I'm taking a break, a hiatus.
Forced.
Because I want the trigger
I want the hunger back.