Wicked waste. My inner cranium is filled with polyester batting that lets me just function. Anything higher, more cerebral can’t fit. Just can’t stuff it in. You know how f*****g horrible it is to fill a f*****g pillowcase. I know I’ve told you that before. You’re heard it all before. I say it all over and over you. Like a shower with a firehouse.
As opposed to my heart. My ribcage is filled with melted crayons. We just need to poke some holes and I’ll make a rainbow print, Use it how ever you wish. Or do that to me.
You know sometimes I don’t feel so consumptive. I’m not always, am I? Wear your gloves and masks everyone! I’ll infect you and you’ll hate me for it. If it’s any consolation I hate me for it too.
I’m so scared that I’ll lose you to the ocean. I’ll lose us in a wave except after instead of being christened after we won’t be breathing. We’ll be hollowed bodies filled with bones and tissue. Forget it--I will be.
Remember when we slept in water soaked heir? No one drowned then but the sun was out so that helped. We swam back holding hands even. Then made love.
Threads of glass are spilled everywhere. The linear way the sunshine splits and separates them. Like a bored cat I want to capture them. Safely stow them in a jar under my bed. They’ll always be in my thoughts.
