|
Check in, fall off, and I can't get there, not tonight anyway. Too much in the way despite my attempts at concentration. I don't have the heart to hurt anymore, to want to have that need. And still, there's this: chance. Just me in this little corner stowed away and I am not hiding, because I can be found. And I stab another cigarette between my lips and focus on the dingy corners and useless bits and burn under the scathing texture of electric light bulbs that hang there, albatross-like, over my dry, waking-world eyes. But I know, I know in some soon, I will take them all; the whispers and the wails. Just like tiger truimph and soup-bone memory, I will hack this cage to bits. And I take it because it's mine, and I take it because I want it without anymore excuses or reasons. I own this place and you are just visiting...
|
|
|
