rub my eyes

this can't be happening.

all we are

Tiny spirits bearing up corpses, let's not put too much emphasis on the corpses, shall we?

if wishes were horses

....we'd all have cocaine addictions.

Why do I speak? Especially things like this, to random people.

Awkward.

...---...

fucking.

A.

slight

cat through the portal

from the kitchen floor

point of reference

The beast inside of me is gunna getcha, getcha, getcha....

I forgot how to do this....

Thought articulation bullshit.

I walked through the door of my apartment after work today and thought Jules was dead.

My sweet little parakeet, almost slaughtered by my sweet little cat. Mallow. Not as innocent as his name would suggest.

Jules' cage was all over the floor; he was seemingly unconcerned with his situation, sitting in the upper corner of his upside-down world of bars....

I put him on my shoulder and look at my cell phone.

Okay.

Another missed call.

This is too many. I have carefully tested the boundaries over the years for how long I can ignore my family before they sincerely start to consider whether I am, in fact, dead.

Mother is the most pressing; I haven't spoken to her in.... A long time. I bite my lip. It really depends, with her. If she is in a good mood....

If she's willing to "go there" or not. I'm hoping not. But I have to call her. So I do. Before I get high, before I get a glass of wine. Before I fade away completely.

Julian nestles into my neck, nibbling my hair with his tiny beak. I smile.

My mother answers, sounds happy. I relax, infinitesimally. She tells me about my cousin having her second baby. I try to remember how much younger my cousin is than I am.

When I think all is going well, she Goes There.

"I don't know what to think about you," she says.
A heartbeat's hesitation before I reply, "What do you mean?"
"I just," she sighs. "I don't have a reference point, here. My mother left when I was young and I didn't have the opportunity to talk to her," she says. "But I'm here, I'm available. Do you hate me?"
"God, Mom," I say.
"I just don't have anything to compare it to," she tries to explain again.
I know what she's trying to say, but it's not what she's saying.
"It's not like that, Mom, okay?" I can't tell her all that I feel or I will lose it completely. I am also keenly aware of Justin standing in the doorway.
"I would understand, if----" she starts.
"No," I interrupt. Angry. Irritated. "I love you. It's not you. Okay?"
She sighs.

I ask her when my half sister's graduation party is, and she tells me: May 8th.

I try to remember today's date. I have time. I feel such guilt for avoiding my mother like this. But I would not be able to bullshit her if she saw me like this. The What's-Wrong-With-You's would be ceaseless.

We hang up; I get a glass of wine.

Smoke.

In the vapor,

again.