i wish i had wings.
and
the heart of a child.
coming home
to an empty apartment
with
open cabinet doors
and
shower curtain.
don't you know
that
towel is for show?
the smell of death
and
nag champa
and
the empty space
where
your suitcase once
lay.
a forgotten toothbrush.
and a string of yarn
in
the
shape of a heart.
a note.
in pencil.
on our backs.
meet me in chicago.
or austin.
or
west islip, ny.
love me in the spring time.
that's where i'll be waiting.
1.31.2012
1.26.2012
my feet are on fire.
and
i'm crying my eyes out.
over the things that i have done.
that
i wouldn't have done.
that
i shouldn't have done.
that
oh
what does it matter?
i have a motorcycle helmet
and
a rotting pineapple.
a sink of dirty dishes
and
all i want to do is sleep.
this is what happens
when
you believe
a ruby tuesdays waitress.
and
i'm crying my eyes out.
over the things that i have done.
that
i wouldn't have done.
that
i shouldn't have done.
that
oh
what does it matter?
i have a motorcycle helmet
and
a rotting pineapple.
a sink of dirty dishes
and
all i want to do is sleep.
this is what happens
when
you believe
a ruby tuesdays waitress.
1.25.2012
abnormal pineapple day.
dancing in the dark
in
a lutheran church basement
with
stars floating around my head
and
in my eyes
and
under sweaty armpits.
typical, brooklyn.
booking a flight
to
bangkok
in the middle of the night.
and
mixing chemicals
to kill roaches.
singing
saves the day
with the pizza guy
unapologetically.
achy body
and
the smell of
eucalyptus.
dancing in the dark
in
a lutheran church basement
with
stars floating around my head
and
in my eyes
and
under sweaty armpits.
typical, brooklyn.
booking a flight
to
bangkok
in the middle of the night.
and
mixing chemicals
to kill roaches.
singing
saves the day
with the pizza guy
unapologetically.
achy body
and
the smell of
eucalyptus.
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