at some point last week::

“i’m surrounded by hearts i didn’t mean to steal, their life beating in my coat pockets, tell-tale signs of my sins. a bloody trail of them behind me, little aborted children i can’t afford to go back and mourn because my own emotions are already stretched too thin.

there’s a better place for them somewhere, other than in my hands, i’ll sing them a song as i walk the blvd, a hopeless attempt at salvation, even as my hand closes around the sticky fingertips at my side.

their chorus is growing quieter, sad eulogies for themselves.

i don’t blame them. i’d be bitter too.”

and then, in the shower, it just came to me. in this backstabbing motion. and i started crying for the main fact that these things take so long to get back to me and it’s like living with only one eye open because it’s my bird cage that should be leaning against the base boards. “fuck… i left my towel in my room.”
_____________________________________________________

http://www.jungle-life.com