in august i was half-drunken stumbling back to your apartment, when the tree roots branched out to the sky. i was sideways-lying on your bathroom floor when the sun came up on saturday. i’ve been waking up with that song stuck in my head. half-warm cups of coffee linger on the living room coffee table. we drink them at night when our schedules open up on sunday, when i can lay my head in your lap for a few hours.
i find a note i wrote you two months ago, in a sea of parisian sun and blonde hair. now all i have is writers block, four empty notebooks, and an idle blog. half-way through october, i make empty promises and eat lots of apples. i make empty apples eat all their promises, and do my homework with greedy fists pounding forks on the table. more and more i want to wash it all down and get the taste out of my mouth. maybe this is finally something good. something sweet like peanut-butter pie.
i pull half-baked raspberry-jam cookies out of the oven. maybe we should try and leave them in a little longer. i leave for the weekend with a ziploc full. it’s halfway through the week when i see you. half-way through goodbye, we have to start over. on thursday, i’m tired and beautiful. i’ve got my thumbs pressed deep in my ears, lipgloss spilling in the pocket of my purse, and popcorn kernels in my back-teeth.
i ride zeno’s arrow halfway to your house, but turn around for a flat tire. god, lately we’ve been so tired. you’re soaked in imaginary cigarette smoke, sometimes it comes out of your ears, but certainly it’s always looming. you tower over me on tip toes, toothbrush hanging from your teeth. im moving all the time, but i know the end won’t come.
Feral in the barrel 