It's a shame, my dear. There's no room for me here. So I'm leaving.

June, July, August, September. 

What comes next? I don't want to remember. 

Monday. Monday is first.
Monday is sucking and beating
and biting my lips until they
swell into grapefruits.

The next two days are combined into one in my mind, for
they are of the same color, both subtly greying around the edges and
a deep, deep purple heart.

Today is Thursday and I
have yet to accept the most recent events
that smashed against my windshield this
morning and afternoon.

I don't want to finish this week, mostly
I don't want to be a part of today and a
part of tomorrow and especially the day
after tomorrow because that means that all this
time is still passing and that means that I haven't
caught up yet.

I doubt
if I will
at all.

you would think by now 

I would've mastered the art of

getting bent. 

you're small and it's all
grow up, get this, do that.
but the truth is that the world is so much
dark, it's so much matter, it's so much
stranger and layered and
it's so
much
better.

sometimes I feel as if
cigarette butts are
bread crumbs
for grown ups.