desperately seeking spark

A golden shovel after “The Phoenix” by Fall Out Boy

sometimes i want to shout hey how come it’s so hard to get it while your young teeth grope for my body, draw blood

you don’t even realize you’re imbibing. doesn’t the iron on your tongue make the mess of it all taste like guilt? your hands start to feel

like strangers again, quivers and shivers like virgins who know better in theory. our future could be, if only—but not this time.

i still sob—the size of the rift between us is spreading itself further apart. you’re running away into the night. the light is out.