Petey! I miss you when you're away.
My writer's block has been horrible lately. I *finally* managed something. And that in and of itself if a triumph.
Pelting rain pushes my hair in front of my eyes. I scrape it aside, but stringy clumps cling to my face and neck. The neck that used to be the safehouse of the kisses of your tears and the kisses of your lips. Thinking about it makes something behind my eyes turn to lead, and I notice the wind stripping my body of its warmth. Is that what you feel like underneath my feet? I want to sit with my back against your smooth headstone, but I know the water would seep all the way through - not that it matters if I get a yeast infection anymore. Symphony of flashing cymbals illuminate the murk. It can't be that late, but the grey pressure is making me tired. The earth wails with the energy I have already exhausted and I leave you there to rot.
Pelting rain pushes my hair in front of my eyes. I scrape it aside, but stringy clumps cling to my face and neck. The neck that used to be the safehouse of the kisses of your tears and the kisses of your lips. Thinking about it makes something behind my eyes turn to lead, and I notice the wind stripping my body of its warmth. Is that what you feel like underneath my feet? I want to sit with my back against your smooth headstone, but I know the water would seep all the way through - not that it matters if I get a yeast infection anymore. Symphony of flashing cymbals illuminate the murk. It can't be that late, but the grey pressure is making me tired. The earth wails with the energy I have already exhausted and I leave you there to rot.