i need a new bit

rectangular containers empty of my words
my dad and his fucked up handwriting
his pixel artwork that he made on his work computer

a classical reproduction of the same thing:
like father, like daughter!
we square off like fighters

a preference for pain that could have been avoided
i run my mouth long and wide for a man in the band
while my dad talks to my voicemail
a ghost that keeps chasing and chasing me from where i used to be

the love of a child
bald and eager and selfish

the man in the band can take me home
he can wiggle the steering wheel
and make me cry
and it will feel good until my stupid heart cracks open