[I don't deserve.]
Asbestos and asterisks crawl the walls in my lungs, capillaries bursting as the temples twitch, recalling the empty space in his futon tonight, want to listen to Fiona Apple want my ovaries not to operate on a two-week cycle as if the moon herself had been dribbled into a new orbit, a smoother faster ride around a heavier smellier planet. Were I an optimist myself I never would have...well...we'll not go that way tonight, this morning, what the fuck time is it? Will I ever quit smoking? Is life without him worth it? Notevenforasecond. So great I'm a hopeless motherfucker living and breathing for a fat chance.