(no subject)
travis left his tommy hilfiger polo crumpled on your wooden dining room table and his scent stashed somewhere among your cotton sheets and pillows, while the pictures of other men mold in the closet and your sister cries for her lack of judgement. as her leaf necklace lays on your dresser and she screams for her lack of coordination. your side hurts, the left side stained with ink, the side with faces and expressions that you cannot express yourself. the coffe pots rests on a chair for days, weeks maybe, but whose counting when you buy all your caffeine in little tin cans or pills marketed by pepsi and coke. who is counting how many cans and bottles and cups and lids are piling on your dashboard and across your passenger seat floorbaord. how many jelly beans are smashed into the carpet of your car, how many memories are molded into the carpet of your room. you call out to an absent fried because you don't want to pass out alone and her some voice in the background of your inner dailogue is begging for death by 100 knives. you looked so beautiful tonight. you brought yourself to your knees and kept your phone beside you in hopes that the stars, or the song, or the moment would be right. and you could sleep in the sack until your sister calls in the morning, and asks in that condescending tone "did you stay over there last night?"
the apartment smells like smoke from fires before and you want to say burn, fucking let it burn.
the apartment smells like smoke from fires before and you want to say burn, fucking let it burn.