May 2012
Cigarette smoke contributed to the sky’s overcast. Today, I woke up content for the first time in years. I found the Sherry I left sitting on a park bench 52 full moons ago. I looked into her nebulous eyes and saw residue of a super nova.
I pledge allegiance to the flag of the Almond States of Peanut Butter.
Words are symbols that birthed emotion.
Notepaper heart, you’re crumpled at the edges and singed in the right ventricle. A spark ignited. Fire. There is a permanent mark in between your pulmonary valves.
Don’t touch the open wound, it’s delicate.
Notepaper heart, something is happening. There’s a man who found you and is currently filling your void with scraps of his notepaper heart. He promises to steal bits and pieces of you and replace them with his fragments.
Papier-mâché.
He likes his coffee bitter because it reminds him of her.
I woke up with the words “driftwood limbs” glaring at me from my phone screen.
I can read 517 words per minute and I drink like my father.
