some bands

 

when i hear some bands

I think i hear

something i was becoming

but could not become

as i burned through my tendons

bedroom-strumming

to escape flashing dim horror

acid blue ghosts at play in my head

two friends dead in maine

and ready for none of it

it singed my mind

bedroom guitar singed my arm

the road ahead shimmered

as telecasters and denim

but that gate

creaked shut

something different

is born from

how we respond

to what we find

in the forest

when the gate

creaks

shut