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My wrists are rivers, my fingers are words
by Jolie JordanI am deep down the rabbit hole this time,
shit kicking these city streets
peeling gore off the bottom of my shoes,
I never wanted this.
My sober mind is as heavy as these lungs
I wipe last night onto my sleeve
and separate trees
from limb to limb
When I come on, I come on. It gets dark.
There is nothing pretty about my forest.
There is no road here for your feet.
I was born a prized fighter.
my wrists are wrapped
and I'm primed to knock you out,
these fists have epilepsy.
I am an uncontrollable paroxysm of thoughts
that suffocate under this weight in my chest. 04/28/2015 Author's Note: Title borrowed from Bukowski.
Posted on 04/29/2015
Copyright © 2025 Jolie Jordan
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