again.
storm cloud dyed eyes stare out into the electric landscape. linear sea monsters shake and convulse up the walls, ripping down old newspapers stuck there by 98% humidity. on this 58 degree summer day. she dreams the reality of you. all bones and blood, jugular veins and marrow.or something else. 12% tea leaves and dirt. 50% empty bullet shells. 33% old pages of poetry books. 5% celluloid.
'i can't wait any longer'.
writing out the lighting and thunder on 1/2 of the right side of a typewriter. in tangerine ink and paper the color of dust. hands scarred in a million different ways crush and uncrush the empty pages. spreading ink once again up the walls and cementing in the monsters.
'i know'.

it is.

'i don't love you anymore'
written across the floor in spilled ink and snakeskin whiskey. seeping through the skin/eyes/fingertips and soaking through the carpet. that's just all there is to it.
'goddamn i am tired' she said.
enter the vulture-eyed salesman walking east. 23% of him looks through you. the other 77% blows away with the wind. sitting in a room littered with. blank sheets of paper. cups of coffee grounds. old newspapers.rustednails.cigaretteashesinkcoveredglovesloosehairdisaintegratedmattress and filled. with the sound. of. scratching. radio. waves.
'it's you fault' he says.

is it.

orange sun streams through the window blinds. the pencil breaks and thats the end of the paragraph. strike a match and pour another spoonful of green medicine/poison over a sugar cube into a tea cup and into/down the throat. the orange turns red turns purple turns blue turns black turns blackandblue. move into the kitchen room and sit in the reupholstered armchair and sit in the black and blue world. listening to the eight footed foot steps of your 312 other roommates. listen to the scratch squeak of the inside wall neighbors. it's times like these that.
'make me glad to be alive" he said.

something inside. wanted to get out. or back in.
hiding numbers and forgetting numbers. "who are you anymore?" i asked/typed/recorded.
in between the radio silence there was: 2 broken glasses, 4.5 bottles of rusted wine, 3 tons of ripped upholstery, 1 book of parasitology, and 53 hours of emotional disorientation/deliberation/revelation.
and then. one word answers. with a variation of 3 to 4 punctuation's.
whoareyouanymore?

"here we are"
she thought sitting in a room covered with fabric. the window only open a crack. the music only just humming through the walls. burnt out cigarettes and half empty syringes of caffeine and year old newspapers.
that was the down spiral.
this was the way up.
hands shaking and tapping. tap tapping at letters. writing invisible notes on invisible sheets of paper. teeth shine. mouths move. eyes blink and not blink. opened bottles and golden hearts. crawling out the window and down the rusted ladder he said.
"there you are"

control yourself.
electronic dance music pulses through the telephone wires and the glass is half full of rusted wine.
half manufactured eyes perk up while the caffeine does what it was born to do.
black kitten teeth chew on gold chains and rabbit fur.
sink into the air and out onto the street.

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.