Truancy

i’m relapsing

back to the old habits

that got me rife,

kicked out and

expelled gracelessly

out of a good life.

old habits die

hard, but i’ll die

even fucking harder

so please push the

air out of my lungs

and fill it with water.

it’s truancy and blades

and blood-red ink,

it’s guilt over music

screaming internally

so i won’t have to think.

it’s brooding in bookshelves

scribbling on paper

and drowning in books,

falling out of reality and

hiding under the tables like

a broken broke crook.

it’s beating and seething

and semantically cheating

in the classless class,

it’s skipping on responsibility

and regretting, and my

conscience now tastes crass.

i attempt to assure, and

i say it’ll be fine, it’s only

for half of a wasted day,

screw it, i’ll be fucking okay

even though i know i

won’t be anyhow anyway.

i’m relapsing, i’m collapsing

i’m the suspect confessing

my criminal records curt,

so don’t try to pull me out

of the wreckage, you know

in the debris, you’ll just get hurt.

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