I mount my plastic lung in front of me on a small brown wooden table.
My mother left the apartment we moved into yesterday early this morning, without drinking her morning coffee she asked me to run downstairs and fetch, but I didn’t.
More ashes travel with sorrow to aching lungs, I fool myself that I won’t spend a week’s worth of food money on half a day’s illusion.
The half husky-half-pit-bull orphan cools down on the marble floor, I wonder if it could run all the way to the Alps.
I am connected to the internet but I feel more lonely and detached than Adam after falling from heavens. More a stranger than to care about last night’s “I don’t’ want to hurt you”. Nothing more attractive in a woman than the absolute self confidence in ability to hurt.
My skin itches, but I am yet to determine if out of craving her touch Or wanting to shed all that craves her like dead skin. I have no words for sun or moon when the eternal battle reaches today’s sky soon.
The day is mute as my words and our hearts.
