Collarbone Fatigue

there's a blur in the valley
a dot above the crease
crimson light in a box
long wave frequencies knock
side door foot traffic
orange blink tap in 
chest tender bubbles bursting
why do you call him papa?
sweep me under the rug
pull me round I'll feel the tug
curled up in mom's old mug
trapped in this Venn diagram 
holding my diaphragm
I said I wouldn't do it again  
collarbone fatigue
it's fresh air that I bleed
leaking and fueling 
some dumpster fire
we don't come with a spare tire
looking for my smile
it's across the pond
I was happy there once
how do I turn this shit off
mind like a beyblade 
secular dreidel
robbing myself of love and a cradle 
lost party favors
nostalgic edge taciturn 
I think I'll be the end of me