Sunday September 16, 2018
How to Unthink (In Two Movements)
The bedsheets wake up bloody and somebody’s name gets cursed for choosing white. Not my name, I’ll tell you that. The first tears are muted into the pillow at 6AM. The second at seven. The stomach starts talking to me around ten after eight and starts yelling at nine. So far universe: 5, me: 0.
When the deep weakness punches back from the reflection in the mirror I know I am on an up-cliff climb without a rope. The first person to get hit in a street fight is usually the one who loses.
Somehow the angel card that gets flipped up from the pile by no one with fingerprints is
It wasn’t me, I’ll tell you that. You said it wasn’t you.