Heroin

A lot of thought and upturned tsk tsk tongues went into my arbor day present for you.

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In ninety six days I constructed a time machine out of papier mache, yellow stickers and sandwich bags. In which I plan to kidnap you. and we'll lay post it notes for every step to chronicle what we eat along the way. It may be a long journey. Pack light.

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So even though I was too afraid of blood to study medicine, like children weilding knives we fill our matching syringes with clay, watching trees grow as we wait for it to dry. Secretly folding paper airplanes, giggling as we set them in my homemade contraption. Shaking water from my ears to taste magic.

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With violent eyes I monitor the situation, inhaling every last crumb while you're taking out the trash. I've never seen someone fall so hard as your face did then. seeing proof smeared dark against my chest.

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In attempts to correct my inherent greed, I scrape cocktails from the dishes in the sink, set them off and offer you the fumes, wrapped neatly in your Sunday best. I've never seen someone fall so soft as you did then. Cherries hooked their stems along your brow, conceding its' defeat to perspiration.

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It's puzzling why we spent so much time on the floor. Wandering like rats, elbows leaving track marks in the carpet, listening to dirt. Talon scratches permanent on the windowsill, and I can still hear your footsteps coming up the stairs to the basement.

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Percolating on the balcony, are whispered cigarettes and clang-clanging trash bags, transparent and asking to be covered, holding secrets tucked in empty cans and pizza boxes, conversing amongst themselves.

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The photographs, lain side by side are impossible to make no sense to me and your binoculars have kaleidoscopes for lenses. Electric array of color splashed across what should be newsprint. Is my memory. Clouds puncture our used plastic cups, filling them with amnesia and making tears in the seams of your pockets.

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 But we never bothered asking if this was any way to live. Walking to the store in cold sweat, constantly stopping to empty the sand from our shoes.

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I'm sorry for borrowing your wallet without asking, I used it to paint pictures on my arms in purple.

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And I'm sorry for drinking the last beer on Saturday, when the liquor stores had gone to sleep.

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I know it makes no difference, but I collected every eyelash from your bedroom, stored in a box with all my other jewelry. And while I can't read them anymore, I hope you'll accept them in lieu of my debt for wasting your time.

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So really this is Kindergarten crafts, drawing blisters on my feet and yesterday becomes the farthest distance I imagine.