the other tragedy- I'm yours but hopelessly romanticize every situation.
at the grocery store i look into other peoples baskets and when i catch someone looking into mine i wonder if we all don't fall in love a little.
just between produce and dairy. the smell of candy, of fresh baked bread.
At check-out our carts lightly touch. her bug bitten legs. my chipped finger nail polish left on since Halloween. its my job to notice. its my story to tell. we browse the magazines while waiting our turn: new chewing gum, new fade diets, flu-scares, celebrity faces, horoscopes.
she pays. i pay. we go about our separate ways. our separate lives.
a quick glance, a slight smile enough to know it isn't just me.
it was who she was in the dark, cigarettes and mumbled sleep and a hundred other things nameable and not.
the devils in me. sadness. no reason- maybe the radio.
maybe I'm not sad.
this could be calm.
this could be what soothing feels like.
this could be me without noise. i listen to my inside voice. no echo.
the vibrations are a hum.
the trouble with everything is how suddenly it could turn to nothing. every candy a toothache in a fancy wrapper.
a book filled with poetry and fuck stories. my lies. our lies. our nothing.
the devil is loose in my heart and she likes it rough. like it was in your room the night you let me stay. A sunny skied morning turned a starry night.
whatever she says. whatever god says.
whatever the darkness tells me to do.
after dreaming i write to her. i want to click send and open old wounds.
she fucked the words out of me.
the vibrations are a hum. good bye again.
This is us. this is how we follow through.