Eyes and Bugs in the back of my head.

i.want.so.much. again.

again.

nowitsoundslikethis.lintlikefilmysurface..ofyourskinitsangrytexture.makesmeshiverand.recoil.likeiliketodolatelywhen its.late.too.late.i.smell.it.and.taste.it.the.air.is.stale.with.cardboard.throat.things.escaped.snores.and.random.words.i.guess.this.is.what.it.looks.like.on.the.verge.of.furious.nothingness.the.view.is.lovely.you.hang.it.out.to.dry.where.i.cant.miss.it.and.you.know.i.hate.it.just.because.i.want.it.but]cant cant cant

get out of bed before i

missed everything

which is really nothing

when i formed that last thought i forgot

how humiliating

i bravely made me sound like you

and your very much vip lifestyle where doors open on cue when you and your thumbprint pass last things last

and i

forgot what year it could be by now i make my bed without ever waking up

somehow

and lie in it all times incompatible with life and i lie just so i might have some lame lines to make you laugh sometimes through the static and crackling phone line i am secretly grateful for the excuse to turn you loose because its so late in new york city by now although i wouldn't know, not really and never could get into wristwatches and erasable ink and things that imply i have time

to think again, to formulate a plan

to fuck it all up once again

and when i land in a pile of shit and twisted wrists elbow crooks and corners of kneecaps shinbones and high heels with plenty of reasons to look up

since i left myself little in the way of choices again and i cant imagine what clearly does not run through your mind but maybe that's fine and fantastic for you and maybe my own could take notes and make lists and hints and to-do tasks could maybe make less of a mess in my cheap and stiff sheets that i wish were like comfort soul food for the skin or something less like sleep less in this desert in smaller than single twin bed sheets scratching the lack of sensory stimuli seems like something i saw coming or i would have if

i could have seen the forest for the trees and you on the roof pick one i dare you

at sunrise or some inconsequential time of whatever day it never dawned on me not to interrupt your pointed commentary even though you just gave up every time i was out of my mind you should know and i couldnt hear most of your stammering and fumbling for words or whatever might have lodged itself in your soft palate i guess

because i couldnt do much more than prototype and cliche it was the first time i made a mess and i should have spent less money on monstermaking voodoo tools the shed out back was me

and i should have.could.have.would.have.wont have.regretted.your.eyes.turned.at.those.hope.diamond.type.times.in.my.frayed.and.game.over.player.one.mind's eye.where.sometimes.its less this and just a split ended eyelash different than some other way it once was in your mind while i was out shopping for real estate which i made no effort to pay for and yet i dared karma and payback to play hide and go seek with all the absent

empty

lack of care

that i would have likely sold to you for the shirt off your back if you'd have it that way but no matter my fruitless searches for what i make earth better for being a consumer and user of people and air and subleased corners of places form a foggy uneasy noise in my throat when some unnassuming and well meaning nosy type nonsense face that i see but can't place from where i might be this person's favorite story to tell random strangers for some reason or another but still i can't say for certain

that i remember much more than how small my

hands

felt inside yours with my eyes open but everything else that had once looked so much like hope and french toast on sundays to you was just not much more than second hand smoke clouds outside your window where i can see cranes lifting big men and metal buildings constructing some new thing i would never be welcome in anyway so i'm not done with you if not for the sake of regret and past due late fees and library books that we stole from taxes you paid to the city because

that's just your kind of thing...

i guess what i smoked to provoke arguments in your apartment on orchard made less of a mess than what happened to your bed and your mattress so well suited for more than just one of us, the sort of setup and situational irony i would surely appreciate if only i could give a shit

or see the look in your shoulders slumped over like skulking along the sidewalk away from me always these days and even the nights remind me of your tiptoe ish type of walk its a random thing i must have dreamt up one afternoon or maybe its just this fucking twin bed that i can't get into without spitting in my face or what i picture it to look like and cursing

always cursing

myself for this

and for what i can't find and never could afford to admit i couldn't care less to even look for like it was too much of a risk to take the plunge

fingertips scraping empty pockets and coming up worse than before its true and i stopped digging for change

and other bliss makers magic markers and playing cards with diamonds on the outside

waiting for me to find and isn't it mind-blowing and obvious all wrapped up in starchy cheap shots and sheets stained with what i had to offer you before darkness became all this fifth pocket has in store for what that's worth and all of this is just the thing i'm trying to avoid

addressing the dirt and the lint and how it feels like memory and empty beds you blew your air into for lack of better more stable things in both of our lives i suppose you were right to shave yourself smooth so unsettling i said about it back then in bad neighborhoods where car alarms and snoring patternless hugs me inside still when i can't get used to this cricket-filled air and the altitude sickens me

so they say i wouldn't blame it on the elevation as much as most days when i wake up only to find i cannot wake up and i blink but it only mixes mascara years old into the gritty things i go to rub into bloodshot only to rot my layers of skin off from overcompensating for this

and i could pick the phone up i guess

and let you talk me down from the ledge like you probably do best but here's why this still fills me with air and gas bubbles like embolisms ruptured toxic

i'm not even this

or that

i'm nothing but wasted

space and

displaced hopless case file in cold corners of this arid unthinkable sleeping awake place where i still never know when to get up for whatever the day won't play out for me but still i can feel the simple one sensation that sustains me with if nothing else, the familiar and the failures and my family fucking with all of this and telling me

to wash my sheets and my feet and for what is what i would surely want to know

if i ever found any forgotten atom of energy unspent still hiding in some hidden pocket of an old purse perhaps inside a broken parliament filter that snapped like the best of things and like

this

does not bend because of physics and emptiness

voids and dark matter the proof of which does exist, ask nat-geo on cable and me at my best i still feel the full weight of what would fall from my head if i could

ever care about what i forgot to pack accordingly and was thrown out from my contraband carry-on as if a one way ticket to this

wasn't punishment and karma in the endzone victory dance in my face for the ages i know

it would have been enough

but then, i don't need much more than this

and soaking wet nylon low thread count and too worn in to be new ish i think but then i think about cheap

and how sheets and bullshit i spit here and in life is like dirty fingernails lazy with what i lack and can't find now or then for lack of looking or what i can't know but still it strikes me

shin on the clapboard there is a dent that endures on us both after too many nights of this and unthinkable calenders torn off somehwhere else i imagine since you stopped filling my missing pieces in with your whispers and rants and all i know now

is what i can't touch for lack of so much and so little in me and my eyelids like anchors

and icebergs in me continue to cover up what the bad reception and the wind might leave to blank spaces and imagination

but i'd rather not

feel the air move where you are not there to brace my flesh from freefalling out into nothing

weighted down by nothing i float on forever maybe why wait for me when chasing me once found you

cursing

more often than usual and for that

i can't bear to bring my eyes to focus on anything but just the end of my nose and the scars

from where i held out my hand and i opened my fist and released your best efforts from flimsy half assed girl grip and skipping stones on the water alone let me know i was still alive and right about this

i can't look up even though that's the only option left-

its not that i care its that the falling stars scare the shit out of my raw blistered fingertips now after this

moved mountatins out of me and i moved brooklyn into my closet with my human being ness of messy things i know this

your absence is my fault i guess its just the latest in a string of victories for fate and lady karma luck is all out to fuck with my great big debt- that i never paid off and when i watched you slip through my creased palm

the spaces between knuckles crooked joints that dodged you but still i shook you loose and refused to look you in the eye

and this

twin bed and vacant sign overhead burnt out for lack of bulbs and concern for keeping up appearances and this

is my best and nothing worse than bad acting i have small hands. and veins that would freeze if they could find the time to

call a spade a sidewalk crack reminder of stagnant rigor and oh well not for nothing but for lack of even nothing off putting vapid and free

of youandme and sheets that still smell like me i think you said this one time although i can't be sure of much at these elevations and all i know is

this is not my life.