Lace trim that chafes. Pink shoes already muddied.
One stick of deodorant worn down to the nub; another on stand-by to replace it.
Singing along in the shower to lyrics I don't believe are true. Time goes by so quickly. Especially when wet.
Grease fires that I am slow to extinguish.
Genius in the details. Rejection as a career. Creating words, destroying words. Pencil shavings and pink gum erasers. Not enough details; not enough by far.
If Jesus rang, I'd let the machine pick it up. And I probably wouldn't return the call.
Book 12 of War and Peace and still no peace in sight. Peace is too rare a commodity.
A carefully preserved leaf between the pages of anguished words, both from last summer, both of which restrict my breathing.
An anniversary I don't care to celebrate - a year without any family.
Chipped polish. Chipped me.
Not even the cheques motivate me.
Rain. Rain in the city. It's no less foreign to me in the sunshine. Don't bother getting familiar. Don't settle in. No roots, no friends...no regrets?
Stabbed myself trying to open the packaging on a new lipgloss. I watched the blood pool. I forgot for a while that it was supposed to hurt. The lipgloss is nice. The bandaid itches.
Discontent. Malcontent. Pas contente. Void of content.
Tired in my bones. Tired of my bones.
Less than an inch. More scar tissue removed. Less than an inch. Two years gone now. Less than an inch.
Brownout. Used batteries. Bank error. Broken promises.
I wonder, is this it?
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