i used to wonder how bullets
tasted after the trigger was pulled—
if the lyrics of a song would pull me
back from the barrel, or if i would go out in
a fit of self-loathing and rock songs
on repeat.

recently it’s been a doctor’s visit and
red flag and smelly stoners in the pit
of a concert encouraging me to scream
and be heard, and–

i don’t think that’s what he
was warning me about when he told me
i could overdose.

i’ve been stuck between forms
of nihilism and realizing how easy
life is when you close your eyes,
realizing the pain was better than being so
numb

realizing i

wish you were here.