prose time...but how you feeling?

Hey fellow mellows, it's been some time since I've posted a good ol' fashioned prose poem, so without further ado, eat your hearts out.

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You fool. Speed by the cops. So so stop, don’t even stop, don’t tell your dada daddy. Don’t grab up at your ankles when your bent over and shaking like a leaf. Don’t just give up on yourself or your paltry haircut. Don’t just clamor for sunshine when you know you’ve been burnt and tanned and destroyed by the summer. Just drink your cherry wine, smash your lungs and limbs in alcohol and salvation. You are the lost engine driver on the way home to Rome. You have lost everything dear to you. Like me, like love, like your favorite pair of smooth leather black gloves, like a kiss you used to remember so well it excited you. Fall asleep, turn over on the mattress. A whole other world calls out, calls your name. Don’t block your ears and say, “I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy!” Go loops and spins and twirls and crashes. We don’t know the words anymore. Touch yourself, say, repeat, say, “I’m still here. I’m still here!”