(no subject)
I laid in the glow of the muted tv listening to songs that mean a lot to me and argued with myself about all the reasons leaving the house could be the worst idea I've ever had.
The yawns kicked in and I admitted defeat. I went to wash my face and get ready for bed.
I wiped the wasted war paint off my reflection. No matter how much I scrubbed, my lips didn't budge.
I forgot I put on color stay lipstick and so there I was, with immovably burgundy lips.
I took off all my clothes and crawled into bed.
And now I'm here with the dim light of my neighbor's too close kitchen and the soft hum of a sleepy cat curled against my spine.
It smells like someone's bonfire coming in through the window.
The songs are still playing. My lips are still burgundy. ...And I can't stop telling myself to shut up.