for Sarah W.

There's a Saturday in my head
and it won't go away, won't drive safe
and I cannot give it space
to have another teenage tantrum
I cannot be an emotional vacuum
and put all the little pieces in my carpet bag
'cause I was always bothered by the little things
Am I just your arm-warmer?
Am I just your pillow?
I swore off testosterone
to please your pigtail cult
and it wasn't enough

And I can't speak for myself
but I imagine I'd say
"I started skating when everyone else went away
and I carve the ice like I can
crack your heartbreak debris."
Shame on me, you say
shame on me.
But you're like unsupervized crowd control
and I am dying in the mosh pit

You're the Saturday in my head
and you're fading away
don't feel safe enough to let you plead your case—
am I as gullible as you would like?
Maybe I'm a hypochondriac
and all these little nicks + cuts are of my design
'cause I was always bothered by the little things.
Am I just convenient for you?
Am I just a bullet that you
cock and load and shoot just for fun . . .?

And you say,
Shame on me, you say
Shame on me.