riot

This is how your presence in my life has changed the way I live it. Body moving between two cities I’ve never lived in, brain preoccupation: the consideration of relocation. Snotty Britpop sneering through skullcandy, hair windstreaming, I am black tights and red shoes burning down black cancer against a red door. It’s not that these things are so much as that I actually enjoy the state of being that lets me know it’s safe to continue to include you in the five year plan I mock myself for having. Assigning ridiculous practicalities to this improbable reality I’m crafting. Reaching for indie zeen rather than Poppy Z, I’m hesitantly happy.

This series set in motion seems to ultimately end successfully. Said state mainly a matter of opinion and fortunate happenstance-so many things crash down around me so often that I am convinced it’s only by the grace of God I’ve made it this far in one piece. Sustainable belief leaves me undrained, full of relief. So overflowing with hope and glee it’s raining in the darkroom behind my eyes. Tears fall faster than last year; my heart is closer to the skin, barely buried beneath ribs whose surface visible ghosts write on my flesh like thick paper.

Taped together parchment doll, falling apart at the seams to let the contents of my heart pump into cyberspace, swirled away like coffee creamer. Best consumed in small doses, build up your tolerance to the new drug before tripping balls. My best guess leaves eight strokes till winter freezes the peaches on the tree, but there’s still plenty of autumn left to fall through, and I could be wrong. (It happens more than anyone notices, electronic distraction being the perfect medium for satellite miscommunication.) But it’s twice written, and so doubly bound; spring is cold and deadly, darling.