get out

get out


these school papers.
these false envelopes.
these corroded words.
collapsed on my bedroom floor;
which is stained from my thoughts
and polluted with my sandpaper breath.

your tricks no longer make me bleed,
and my yellowish eyes are on vacation
somewhere in the Tetons.

your wastebasket of a head enters,
saying 'I need, I need, I need, I need'
well I need for you,
to take your bad breath
and angry filled brain
out of my room.

because it is mine;
at least until I decide.
or maybe until I have a dream,
until I'm ready to leave,
until then, I'm sitting on my
scratching post of a couch;
making money so I can leave.