Sometimes, I see guns in the white streaks on
the chalkboard. Sometimes, I see knives in the
whites of your eyes. Sometimes, I'm so angry
that my muscles clench and I make myself sore.

And, all I can think of lately are those
extended filter Parliament cigarettes, hot
tar, and summer. But, whenever I reach out
and pull towards those days, all I seem to
be doing is scratching at my eyes.
One day, I'll make myself blind.