Wallet Pictures
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I am going back down into a dark place; there are cobwebs like sprouts in a rotten hummus wrap; there are pictures of you from when we were happy (you had hair still, and no bitter notions) - I fell in, you swam out to save me: normal.
Sunbathing reminds me of your character choices - vain and red: a lobster-loving captain; Cain. Weinstein hooking this Virgin Writer’s words and weaving them as his own egg-ish orb-pillows. Bloody hell / period / no pad / no Advil. Immaculate in conception were we --- Sleeping well, are you? Sleeping in, too? Without me there to grind the coffee with my teeth, I would think a long, undisturbed sleep suits you; while angry angry me; spiteful, jealous, pin-prick, saddle-sore arrhythmia waits - I’m pithy. Unrefined little ‘ol jaded ticked off cancer-morph, low platelet count, creamery style cholesterol and oh-my-goodness-graft; hurt me. Hurt me. Hurt me. Done yet? We done with this yet? |
