the city is a monster

with jagged skyscrapers as teeth; oh, is consumption now the desecration of my very soul?
I am troubled by memories and dreams, inspired by inkblots and wine glasses, queasy every time 5am flashes beside the nightstand

7am, no more sleep. I missed my chance. Wake up, fall down, and she doesn’t want to dance- the closet was empty, packed up the skeletons with pretty shoes. Swig back a jug of XX juice, silently suffering every time we lose

8am, time to wake up. But I can’t get back up, I can’t get back up.