Paint Turnt Inwards

Paint Turnt Inwards

By Sarah Mary Chadwick

I feel ill I feel all exterior

I feel ill I feel all exterior

I feel ill like I have no interior

If I do, it sounds exactly like this

There’s a new me on the team

You are entirely lack.

How much illness can you control?

You’re one of me, I can't even tell

which one

I’ve forgotten about my life

Everything's dissolved

It’s fucking miraculous

I don’t want love

I want Pace

I’ll make ticking sounds

All around us

It’s not for the sand

To tell the stars about the sky.

You think you show up

As yourself?

One of my lives is spent

Only looking at your face

Yun Yan

But of this butt on that

Cursive on a lean

In lazy hotel cleaver.

I’ve been a cleaner, cunt

I'm not a bleeder

It looks white then looks blue

Is the wording

floating or engraved?

Tell Jesus I got the pussy blues

‘Jesus, he's got the pussy blues?’

Jesus said he doesn’t give a fuck

Ce n’est pas existement

Je problement la morte

Burden of style

It’s not existential

I’m probably dead

You can’t put you arm around a thunder