I almost broke my door.

Reason doesn’t have very much to do with this. I know by now that inclusion isn’t an option, that it isn’t even broached or occurred to. Temptation truly to harbour hopes of invitation, but idiotic. The door opens in the hall and my heart does cartwheels, fending off the incoming surge of black water which passes for my daily blood. My daily bread is tied into knots, my lungs get caught on the crumbs. Pressure on my chest, I can’t help it. It’s always been here insidious killing and keen? Time to face the music, he’s brought with him a box. It’s full of people, like my things. My real things, not the props of birthday presents. A mouse with wings, a chiseled wineglass, a mirror. Mine are art and his are jewelry, but nobody alive gives me necklaces anymore. Arrogance to think I might sneak in enough, the quantify of social blood and blue blood and here slips this ring. Someone asked from the street if I was okay as I slipped to my knees and curled up inside. My balcony scene, it isn’t done, it’s screaming for the blood of a pilots thumb. It’s crying out for some sort of redemption, the answering machine impossibility. To myself it sings, welcome to this absolution bitch, you don’t get any. This is your theme, your ever present coda. Get used to it because the love song viola rule your life. We’re the sad strings, the unearthy sentimental pulse of hunting the fox down to kill.

Somethings crumbling and I can’t keep up. I am a faulty architect again and again. Shoring up the ocean is impossible, I can’t wait for me to learn what I need, to destroy what I have to. There’s too much, too many whispers in the middle of the night alone. Too many promises. Repeat. I used to know how to put myself in boxes. I used to be able to cry dust from my eyes because it was better than the broken vessels bleeding a red crimson sting. Everything filmed in artery salt water. I looked in the mirror once and felt like a madonna, a holy mary virgin mother. You’d think I would have learned how not to think in russet, but you’re wrong, because I still love you.

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