it is 2:23 am
the fan is set on high, despite the fact that the weather outside is -20°
fans are good for these sorts of things
white noise
drowning out the silence
the thoughts the beer brings
thoughts of fools in love in coffee shops
and cynics in tears in basement rooms
and once brave men in coffins
the dog chews on a rawhide bone
and I unbraid my hair
untangling each knot with trembling fingers
I undress slowly
removing each piece of clothing like a memory
I put on that shirt I bought for you
I crawl into bed
smearing plum lips and black eyes on an off-white pillowcase
and I think of once great loves of cynics
I think of coffins
I think of you in light blue
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
it is 2:23 am
the fan is set on high, despite the fact that the weather outside is -20°
fans are good for these sorts of things
white noise
drowning out the silence
the thoughts the beer brings
thoughts of fools in love in coffee shops
and cynics in tears in basement rooms
and once brave men in coffins
the dog chews on a rawhide bone
and I unbraid my hair
untangling each knot with trembling fingers
I undress slowly
removing each piece of clothing like a memory
I put on that shirt I bought for you
I crawl into bed
smearing plum lips and black eyes on an off-white pillowcase
and I think of once great loves of cynics
I think of coffins
I think of you in light blue
Request permission to use this poem