| Those boys, they were too much for you. One shot always turned into two, and two always turned into four, and four was too much. You could hardly walk. You remember laughter and steps, and someone holding your hair back as you made sacrifice to the porcelain gods. Then, you were in the backseat of a taxi, and when your eyelids lifted from a single blink, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling fan. You should’ve known better than to try to keep up, you thought as the room spun counter-clockwise. Did it spin that direction for everyone, you wondered, or did it go clockwise for some? Did the direction depend on what you drank? Then you were out, fast asleep.
Next morning, the zombies in the living room rise from their whiskey-induced comas, all blood-shot eyes and achy moans. They smell your fried eggs and Canadian bacon, and are in dire need of restoration. Pouring orange juice into cheap champagne, they fill you in on what you missed, after they put you in the cab: the drinks with old people, the riding around in trunks of cars, the mayhem, the debauchery. You humor their tales, and even adore them for their antics, but you know you didn’t miss anything, anything you hadn’t seen countless times before. You relish your fragility, the inability to go as big as the boys, and realize sometimes it’s good to be a girl.
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| from the past and future dissipate easily, and then
we are just organisms floating, floating,
neurons sparking desperately
just empty shells within a
larger and greater emptiness
we are not this painted exterior,
we are masses of elements
thriving and decaying:
a futile accident.
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| You're beautiful. Like smoke curling in the sunlight.
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| i'll blend up that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins.
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| Cause you stole my eyes and i'll never look back.
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