Like a habit

now, this is my way of throwing up, knees bent and steady against the cold wooden floor, arms around the porcelain body, the things coming, out and in, spitting the left over bitter taste, you always cry, while this happens, you are always in tears.
when i have the drugs, i take them, like fuck potential, it's already getting dark. everyone is mad at me, i dropped the day and lost it. it swims and gathers, swims and gathers. we are the feathers on that pond, it wasn't even one of my favorites it just so happened, it happened just so.
all of us, applauding, the leaves underneath all of that snow, "congratulations," the musty coughing browns, "you've done it" i say, can you breathe? i'll tuck you in, i'll hold my breath i always have, i still am. somewhere along the line my teeth grew in and i forgot about breathing, i forgot how to exhale. we wait and wait, in the doctors offices of our brains, signing papers to kill what's inside of us. my seventh grade teacher always said "jesus mary and joseph" when alarmed, when surprised, stuck in a corner, her big earrings.
jesus, mary and that joseph guy who possibly slept with her. really? is that what he did? yes! and then they said hey, hey you, your son he's holy, he's king, mind you he'll have to suffer, you know, nothing too bad, a few scrapes and thorns, it's all, uh, it's all in the liner notes, yes yes they said, their eyes big like cantaloupes and bright like the inside, okay, yes, where do we sign?
she skipped all of the dirty work, that holy mother, the virgin, she stayed in one whole piece, her blue robes and angels hair, never broken, we are never broken. this is a song, it always is , but that statue in my elementary school where her pinky was cracked off, making wishes on it, "hail mary full of grace, the lord is with thee" eyes closed, i'm breaking off, static cling and eyelashes.
but alas, my holy mother was the blurriest, marla singer came so close, my jesus christ is you, little words, little fiction flowers, christmas light daisy chains in winter and cold fingers, the last sentence never feeling finished, so maybe i should leave it halfway done, maybe i should just take you away and .

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