i'm laying on the wooden floor, hoping and praying to a god i don't believe in. i move my hand and suddenly my face is wet, stained with tears and paint and pain and all other things. i think i can stand but my legs are honey and you are the ***. jigsaw pieces litter the ground but i don't mind it down here.
i can't read you right now. i have my magnifying glass but i'm too scared to start a fire. i can't see you right now. i'm thirty-four miles away on top of a rock in the canyon and i can't talk right now, the reception is bad and my feet hurt. you leave me a message anyways. i miss your voice.
maybe alice was wrong about those cookies. maybe we should have stuck to the warning on the bottle and swallowed our tears and gave up trying to stay afloat. or maybe eating burnt bread by the candlelight was worth every painful second, every moment knowing i would and will lose you.