Late night blurs vs. the clarity of morning light. Never too sure who is gonna show up or who's gonna (not)call in sick.
New years. The last few have been worse than the previous. Like a parade of dreams breaking and marching out of my life, trampling one another.
Sleeping in between cities. I'm up to the hips with dreams. It's their smiles and clinking drinks at cocktail hour, but its always me at this time of night.
Hips pressed close to mine – true blue. The way they talk about you isn't even close. Honestly though, I'm vacant baby, and I'm checking out. Kiss me electric. Leave my best days in memories, and my best lines closed tight in books.
New York transit love affair. The veins going underneath the streets that feel so foreign yet endearing. It's not charm, I just don't get it. Trust me (but not really). Couch living (dead) has me hanging onto phone lines. I'm not making sense and my throat is sore. Maybe at least you know I mean it.
There is a breadcrumb trail of melancholy that leads back up to my bed or maybe out of your third floor window, depending on who is following it.
In the beginning I was only planning on holding on to you and using you recreationally, but then I started needing you at nights and then all of the time. The not remembering is what gets to me the worst.
"Pooh"
"Yes, Piglet"
"Nothing, I just wanted to be sure of you"...
"Goodnight dear friend"
"Yes, Piglet"
"Nothing, I just wanted to be sure of you"...
"Goodnight dear friend"








