Sunday, December 10, 2017

Wait For It

You're a work in progress. 'Till you're not. Dying, I suppose, is easy if you're not in love. I have been relying on the stars to show me the way and I don't really know when I started. I do know this- nobody has power over you that you don't give them. 

New medicines make new chances and new poisons smash them like 7 Up bottles on rocks. On a good day it's two steps forward and two steps sideways. I stagger, drunk on moon juice, down a crooked path.

If I could afford it I would pay a therapist to listen to me for a couple of hours a day and pretend she was my best friend. I can't. I'll have to keep pasting my head on travel posters and hiding behind the door while you read my confessions. If I carried a notebook I would scrawl her initials in a heart and flash it so that she might see it.

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