And you’re the mosquito

It’s an itch I can’t scratch

This nagging thought

That we could have been something

*

Sharpen your pencil

And stab me in the eye with your words

*

Smooth your blade and drive it through me with passion

*

Polish your car and run me over with it and watch me roll over on the floor

*

It’s all the same

*

It’s an itch I can’t scratch

That nagging thought

That we could have created something

*

Fill the bucket and force my head under

*

Stir your fire and force my head under

*

Antagonise your bees and force my head under

*

It’s all the same

*

It’s an itch I can’t scratch

A bite I can’t cover

A wound I can’t heal

That endlessly nagging, haunting, pressing thought

That pulls on my sleeve, and demands to be heard

The thought that we could have created something new

*

(17:45)

February 9th

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