compelled

i am often compelled to survive by those scars carved onto your left rib

feet dangle from this bench and i kick them around as i sleep onto your shoulder

you smell like the spices i cooked with tonight

you smell like the right turn down edison street

you smell like the desert flower that was born in my pocket

i smell like rotting onions and i run as you chase me around this room

with your bandages falling off

im slipping on them as i continue running

im grabbing onto the walls that are caked yellow

from a cig thats burning through my pocket

pass it wont you?