help us please (the youth of the us should not be used as a collective credit card)

    laid out

spread like butter

on the ground. 

    i'm melting.

yellow self bubbling 

as i seep into the ground.

through eyes that barely see but 

straight ahead,

i watch them comb through my pockets.

digging deep.

tongue to upper lip.

so deep in what i call "mine"

that it

feels personal. so deep that

when i finally am

spread i'll

still have years of pocket-juice

to toss at them. 

watch them grey and gaining

while i am supposed to be the one blooming.




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