and in my teenage years,
i began to sprout horns.
an anger so dark, i could feel it in my bones.
this summer would u please take me swimming?
cause every winter i feel so close to dying.
our bones broke neatly as ever that year,
beneath our thicker skin.
just wool and cotton being held together
by a thread.
and as u were waiting out the storm,
i hid my eyes and dug my car out of the snow.
let me be yr yellow canary,
not a martyr, but a warning.
when my tired lungs stop breathing don’t make
me beg u to move on.