talk about the time you lost track of yourself

There were only two ways to go and you chose the other. When words were slung, you loaded up with bullets instead of elipses. You were always afraid of pauses. All those times all those times you followed the sun and you never lathered and you never lathered. You trusted ultraviolet rays over medicine over sensitivity to light over cancer. You blamed the boy you blamed your body you blamed genetics you blamed misdirected diagnoses. It was that left turn. It was that fall in Brooklyn. It was that song that stopped you from kissing her. It was kind of like a dance move when ankles twisted into earth and ground bullied your bones and and and it was what spoiled in your lungs. And that time you breathed in someone else or they breathed you in and basement and fifth level garage and Denver and global warming and gluten and and and just find that slip of paper in pocket because those directions will lead you somewhere. You got your nose involved. You used your breasts. You stole soot, stuck it to tongue and licked your life away almost. You thought you were remaining but you were losing you were fading you were exiting the existence of your self.