♥:X-FILES!%$#^, ika lynn, playing dimes, ocean city, french fries, salads&cheese quesadillas, neon green.
measure me in metered lines, in one decisive stare, the time it takes to get from here to there. my ribs that show through t-shirts and these shoes i got for free; i'm unconsoled, i'm lonely. i am so much better than i used to be. terrified of telephones and shopping malls, and knives, and drowning in the pools of over lives. rely a bit to heavily on alcohol and irony. get clobbered on by courtesy, in love with love, and lousy poetry. and i'm leaning on a broken fence between past and present tense. and i'm losing all these stupid games that i swore i'd never play. and it almost feels okay. circumnavigate this body of wonder and uncertainty. armed with every previous failure, and amateur cartography, i breathe in deep before i spread these maps out on my bedroom floor. leaving. wave goodbye. losing, but i'll try, with the last ways left, to remember. sing my imperfect offering.