From the place I stand.
I'm coming off the edges and I count my days down the minutes I have left before I am lost. In two or three days, I could change for the better or for worst, like, just turn the steering wheels in the name of struggles. He knows how I am but he doesn't like the tricks I pull because one day I'll turn him Aphrodite, maybe the next I'll curse him away. One day, I'll vanish. 34 days on count and I'll vanish for the first time.
Through the phone line.
Last night, I saw a cat down my window with its eyes shining like wax on leaves with diamonds in its eyes as my feet dangle.
I hold you close to my ears to listen to what you have to say,
"You get that a lot. You get baffled as to why you were not good enough. Why do you think something as pointless as writing theorems on papers can destroy you?,"
You didn't say that. I did. Then I realize how hard it is to keep something close to your chest.
What's in the radio.
This is my unpaid karma for the narratives I wrote to appeal to others. I'm hating my words now but I have so much to say and no one to listen to me. As if I'm writing some sacred scroll that no one wants to affirm to. I wonder if this is what the deity feels when heathens discards their words and leave them hanging, alone and in denial.
