The night stretches wide, begging for a chomp.
I could be good. I could rest.
But my pulse is a live wire.
I need a hit.
Something raw, something wrong.
A thrill that bites like a spark to the tongue.
I want to drink the moonshine straight from its glow,
stain the streets red,
spit out stars like teeth.
Give me the voltage.
Let me ride the city’s veins,
rip through the highway,
kiss the sky,
floor it till the engine sings.
Can I wear this night like a second skin?
Give in, give out, break apart.
Let the hunger rearrange these wabi-sabi brains—
cracked, lovely, doomed.
A wicked fix.
An unreal buzz.
Like a werewolf, lips curled,
tongue hanging loose,
giving you that look.
I want the voltage. I want the hit.
Photo credit: artist unknown
