heads up
i raise the blinds so my cat can imagine devouring those birds.
but when i do this the sun attacks my eyes, making me even more awake, pushing the sleep back.
i do this. when i work like this.
reach home at 8am. smoke ten cigarettes. drink cans of la croix. watch things i don't need to be watching.
and nothing piques the interest. so i keep flipping, changing views, hoping for some sort of discovery. or that long lost fatigue.
i'd like for sleep to hit my bones like a xylophone. making me ring and vibrate.
causing my body to shake its way to bed.
but that doesn't happen. it doesn't come.
and so i sit, letting the sun sting when it reflects off of things.
numbly watching my cat watch neighbors and robins and snow scooting down gutters.
twenty minutes ago, the landlord called. asked me to let the gas man in.
to unlock the laundry room.
i've been a part of this building since august,
walking my soils to that nightmare of a laundromat
never knowing a hidden stairwell was holding a key to my happiness
the entire time.
but when i do this the sun attacks my eyes, making me even more awake, pushing the sleep back.
i do this. when i work like this.
reach home at 8am. smoke ten cigarettes. drink cans of la croix. watch things i don't need to be watching.
and nothing piques the interest. so i keep flipping, changing views, hoping for some sort of discovery. or that long lost fatigue.
i'd like for sleep to hit my bones like a xylophone. making me ring and vibrate.
causing my body to shake its way to bed.
but that doesn't happen. it doesn't come.
and so i sit, letting the sun sting when it reflects off of things.
numbly watching my cat watch neighbors and robins and snow scooting down gutters.
twenty minutes ago, the landlord called. asked me to let the gas man in.
to unlock the laundry room.
i've been a part of this building since august,
walking my soils to that nightmare of a laundromat
never knowing a hidden stairwell was holding a key to my happiness
the entire time.