i thought about you today.
quite a ****** experience, to be honest.
the iron box full of
sick confessionals that is your heart
made me squint at the wall in front of me.
my pen stopped writing and fell
down my frayed scrap of paper
like a raindrop on a car window, and
i felt like a child confronted by a nasty bug.
picturing your face.
im still staring at the wall wondering
if these thoughts deserve any
complex, wrinkled thesaurus found words.
i frown as i notice a crack in the paint.
they dont.