No Brakes

April blooming white jasmine spills over onto,
the worn-out floral pattern couch where I have been waiting.
Hey kid I think our vessel is sinking under the weight,
of our darkest black coffee spiked with cheap whiskey thinking.
I stand up at the foot of your bed, pull down the sleeves,
on my beat-up black and white wool sweater,
I'm squeezing the little red marks on my wrist,
where I've made some mistakes.

Minds blank and limbs bruised,
Stomachs full of black coffee and plantains.
In the thick smokey fog of your bedsheets,
we have dug our graves.
Seattle is just around the corner,
I feel excited and nervous and a little bit cornered.
We shave each other's heads to escape the heat,
and take to the streets.

And we rise in the late morning on New Year's Day,
To our feast of leftovers and falling back to sleep
in the sun in your front yard I think about how long it's been,
since I felt so full and safe and warm.
And I ride downtown on my bike all the same,
with my headphones and I hate god and no breaks.
Days like these got me smiling so hard it hurts my face,
I'm gonna wake up tomorrow, whatever it takes.