Under A Spell

All my stomach has seen for three days now is water,

A little bit of coke and a prayer to the fathers.

I feel prepared to fight gods that are yet to rule,

But they might be too frightened to battle a fool.

My limbs dangle in midair like I’m under a spell,

My body is crushed under phrases like “sex sells”.

There is an inkling that this ride is going off tracks.

One more mistake and they’ll want their money back.

My sleep is lost on my constant savior complex.

I wish I had a button that makes me more clueless.

Still, I obsess over narratives I did not even birth,

And I pace around the room to hide my hurt.

My head spins from the neon facades the others build.

It seems that when they speak every seat is filled.

I wish I could run faster, but I might outrun my sanity.

Perhaps this path is a testament to my mortality.

-Jackie