comfort is a mystery crawling out of my own skin.
i have two left, but i don't want any more.
the funeral's tomorrow, and i can't do a thing with my hair. the idea weighs on me heavily. until this man becomes the personification of all the virtuous virtue i held to my chest like a prized possession i actually worked for. a jewel i didn't deserve...a jewel that i knew i'd eventually sell back to the pawn shop for drug money.
just ignore the smoke and smile.
my brother's going away this weekend, i don't know when i'll see him again. silly as it seems to be upset over someone who'd quickly step over my cold, dead body if it were between him and the entrance to finish line.....i don't want him to go away.
ignore me, ignore me, ignore me.
and i wish you were here, and that this wasn't so fucking crazy---
---i wish you could lie next to me and listen to the thoughts pouring out of my head, and we could both sleep, the dream hovering above us in a thin, translucent cloud---
but we can't.
as many times as you tell me it's almost over i still drop to the bottom like a boulder was tied to my ankles and then you wonder why i can't breathe.
deion said he was okay, and talking...so that made one thing better.
---
"the things i want just keep me sinking down"
