Anger falls like velvet on the body, but I lick for cinnamon and get soot.
Today, I sat at the base of a three story telescope with my feet dangling off the edge of the world. I couldn’t find a single empty space.
I am so tired of this.
Your body was brittle but you swallowed all of Los Angeles. I can’t go to the concert on Sunday even though I want to wear the new black dress, hips tracing a smokeroom’s pulse. I’m too afraid of seeing anyone who looks like you.
Last night, I lit three candles, put vanilla lotion on my feet, opened a beer, and turned on a John Waters movie. There was a boy with dark hair and snake eyes. I had to turn it off and hide.
I want this all to go away.
I want an egg sandwich. I want my nails blue and unbitten. I want the smell of a match growing cool and black. I want a girl in a leather jacket to swallow me whole and spit me back out, smiling and licking her fingers. I want hair that curls at the ears. I want to wake up with a stomach full of clean air. I want to exhale slow and careful.
I am so tired.
I want you to wake up choking on the city you burned down.