stuck in your head

and it’s stuck in your head like pink bubblegum on hot asphalt,
basketballs against your frontal lobe,
ladybugs wriggling out from behind your eyelids
pink vibrators and her seatbelt alarm
as her tongue carelessly spoon feeds him the words
‘if I was meant to die in a car crash I will’
it’s like how the girl you’ve folded and cut into paper snowflakes,
into something easy to swallow whole,
was as real as her scratching eyelashes off your cheeks in nyquil dreams
her dirty underwear are crumpled like a used napkin in the backseat
and your sister, in her red-sock-in-the-dryer shorts is asleep on a body;
all lanky pale sleepy eyed flannel boy
wet mouth bubbles murmuring Regina Spektor
and you hate how she drives and the way she loves you like a day job
so you come home the same as freshman year cutting yourself in silence
on pink sheets in a little girls bedroom and it’s not even anger anymore
just fuzzy boredom, like dandelion heads and forgetting where you are in math class
and how the first girl looked undressing herself on a sweaty vinyl mattress
unlacing your shoelaces and Jesus, are you flirting with me?
and you realize everyone after her is a mangled shell
you have projected a distorted image on
like Daisy and how to train your dragon 2 on a white sheet in a public park
where we wait to get high, wait for space to curve into the shape of our bodies
all sheep in a machine and you are driving her home
hitting potholes on purpose and probably developing late onset stuttering
she hates your music and all you want to do is spit out lies like rotting teeth
and he told me that something in me was good
she says “she’s finally drawing other people” or “I didn’t read it”
or “will you take the blade out of that for me”  or “I sang to your plants”
or  “do you want some pomegranate seeds” or “I like how his cum feels
dripping down my thighs”
picking off acne in a public school bathroom and pajamas at three pm
you can’t stop daydreaming about driving messily on the highway
stumbling through a fluorescent mall alone, dunking under white porcelain
none of it will feel good and you know that there’s nothing you’ll experience
that can’t be imagined in grey matter
watching a sun set on sharp rocks she tells you awe is the most natural state
but everything is cement and you haven’t even had sex but you’re already bored of it
and the only thing you haven’t felt is honest pain
like that your mother will die one day
she traces your jawbone by the canned tomato soup
with fluttering pink fingernails like butterflies
maggots crawling out from under your tongue
as she kisses you once and never again
 you are so inside your head  
you keep forgetting who this body belongs to