Saturday, April 6, 2013
I'm so sick and tired of the same old thing. And yet I crave routine's complicity. I live in the dark, but it's a murky kind of dark...like wearing your sunglasses into a bar. Everything is smeared in Vaseline. Time drips from the ceiling like blood onto a clean linoleum floor. There's some citrus scent you can never quite place and the air moves weird. I wonder if I'll ever get over the feeling that my mom's just worried about me getting blood on the rug. I wonder why I cared then, and I wonder even more why I give a shit now. But I do.