help me. he tells himself. three nights has passed since his last glass of alcohol. can’t quite convince himself that he hates the taste of it. he peeks thru his window and nervously inhales a cloud of marlboro smoke. raindrops smashing on his glass panes. low dim lights from his solitary table lamp. she sleeps peacefully on his bed again. perfect formula for depression.
skin on skin, waving to the low beat of garage doors. catch my breath. close your eyes. my hand in yours. that’s not me in the mirror above us. he wakes up from a nightmare. water. rain.
help me. she tells herself. three nights of bliss. she approaches the window, her left hand slides down the glass pane. the street lights burn her face yellow. tears smashing on the glass windows. she pulls the blankets closer to her chest. low dim lights from his brand new television. she knows it could get better. she’s tired of convincing herself.
posted Friday, 9 January 2004
