It is Friday night and the only ***** getting licked is Loki, the orange tabby at the end of my bed.

I’ve gotten used to the monotony of sleepwalking through life, graveyard shift be ******

Every time I reach for a flicker of something of anything
All I get is burned

So I trudge and ignore the glances and find my chargers and cry in the shower.
So I blister and bruise and bend and break time and time again
Just to be wrong
Just to always be wrong

“It’s Valentine’s Day, that’s why we don’t have school.”

“Nobody actually gives a **** that it’s Valentine’s Day, kid. I love you, but it’s not a real holiday.”

I used to write love letters. Now I don’t write at all.