This Is What Being Alive Is. A Sticky Menu Between You And Me In A Cramped Booth By A Black Window.
this is what being alive is. a sticky menu between you and me in a cramped booth by a black window.
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it was nearly 4 am as red light streamed out the bar, sifting through drunk legs. it was closing time, even in new york city.
“let me take you home,” he asked; breath smelling more metallic than his eyebrow piercing.
she smiled into his swirling eyes,
and she was never seen again.
- myra
the sweet scent of cigarettes and semen on your lips
new york, new york
grand central smelt of pennies, ticket stubs, and desperation at 5:15 am.
"where're you headed?" the worker asked.
where was he headed? he didn’t realize leaving meant going away. but to go far enough to be folded into memory or far enough to be followed? would his wife search for him?
"connecticut.”
no comment; the worker printed a slip and took his money mechanically.
he needed a congratulations, deserved one for his decision. but who would congratulate a man abandoning his wife?
one of the oldest human needs is having someone to wonder where you are when you don't come home at night - margaret mead
ohh she’s pretty with the sunset in her hair
throw ur dreams in the trash baby girl xx
watch the sawdust n dirt,
swirl swirl swirl
down the drain
mess mess mess
my mind’s
cluttered mess
“evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table.” - criminal minds
there are no exits where you’re going
xxii | she/her | psychology & creative writing | desperately searching for meaning in the mundane
33 posts