this is my melodrama grievance in an album of words.
the pink beer spots on my white shoes.
pink drink, green light as i lay near the harbour, ctrl kinda night.
the next harbour pm i met rueben and never again. that was the most fun conversation i had with a stranger.
a stranger with cigs, a cracked phone, a skateboard and the coolest tattoos.
i was puppet. i was betty, i was tea.
then i was bleeding (not metaphorically) and yearned so deeply to come home. past tense.
now i don't know what or who i'm coming home to. no one is waiting for me at the other end.
forlorn.
space is where love is.
where you're floating, where there's no breath to take.
where you're invited.
