consistency: screaming. pushing. yelling. ripping. biting. side glances against walls in the corner on the bathroom sink. hair pulling scratching staringsharptoothedsmilingblackeyesredveinssmokefilledbedroomswithinkontheskiniloveherwillyoukissmelaughandsingedhairburntskinwateragainsttwofaces back bones and rib cages fingers on the back of necks. walking. running. listening through walls. watching. mouths. move. and. faces. spin.

wake up to copper cowboy songs filtering under the door. limbs wrapped together in electrical cords and guitar strings. mind wrapped in foggy memories and the bottles all empty and broken. flash back to the middle of the night.
"i'm in a constant state. .of emotional distress" he said. mouths moved and water fell through/out of the pipes.
the longer you are gone the less i remember about you. the more the mouths move with no sounds coming out. the louder the background music goes and the faster the grounds and the ceiling switch places.
"i know what you mean"
contradictions. black eyes and bite marks.
"just put your arm around me" he said.

standing still. in the middle of the carousel. faces. legs. bottles. arms. in the incredibly loud spinning freak show orgy of everyone you know and don't know. and you.
7 hours later. there is the black and the black and white. dust in the sheets. the crackling radio. spilt coffee. bruised ribcages.
a half a year ago. there were eyes moving closer. in the present. there are hands pushing and hands pulling.
youtakecaregottagoiloveyouhaveabeautifulday.
words written in melting ink. letters kept inside empty novels. phantom postcards from places that will never exist. because you will never be good enough.
and so.
you still. stand still. in the middle of the carousel.

'i didn't mean to scare you'
but it's too late and visions of blimps crashing to the ground and dogs raining from the sky and that little jump in your ribs when you realize it's all about to end and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it are already floating through my dreams.
'move over i can't breath'
they said to the cat and the boy and the second cat at 4.30 am. 3 hours later you fall asleep. 2 hours after that you are on your 6th cup of coffee with 2 more to go. waste not.
another lightbulb dies out and the mood lighting is complete. it only took 1.5 years.
'where have you been, my dear'
want not.

electrical wires shrink and freeze. then crack and shatter.
the lights go out. the street turns dark. metallic feet walk through the ice. and then they meet.
frozen fingers touch frost bitten faces. "now i see".
the ground crunches. the air stretches. wine glasses smash and the moths chew through sheets.
"there you are".
there.you.are.

the tall umbrella rests against the wall. in the roach infested kitchen of an apartment that is regrettably 50% kitchen. 5 stories from the street and 1 story from the clouds.
in a bed. of desert wool and indian patterns. spare wire and electric tape. no sheets and a stained mattress. he slept and she finished the wine. staring out imaginary windows. skin burns and they both remember underground rain, leather boots weighed down with water, falling from the ceiling. and. my god, not enough coffee to last the week.
eyes staring at teeth, teeth biting at skin, and skin feeling selfishly like nothing.

there was something about that bus ride. blood running through the transmission and leather seats breathing like lungs. a general sense that novocaine was being run through the vents.
back on the fifth floor. suitcases hit the tile. records scratch and echos bounce off walls. ghost coffee is served in broken tea cups and calls returned on the telephone whose wire was cut three days ago.
all the while clouds hang just below the ceiling. filling up with dreams sad enough to make them rain.
a week later, a window is left open and the clouds ran away with your dreams. and also some of the better china.