Glittering Blackness

Blood swarms the veins in my cheeks, making me understand what it means to blush, truly. My throat burns and my lips are raw as the lime presses against them. She drops her cigarette on the ground and in a flash that I can't remember, she's smoking it again and laughing in high ramblings of things that don't make sense and my emotions are out of control and messy. I went through all five stages of grief for someone that's never been dead and three yoga workouts and swim team tryouts to make me forget and start being happy again because I'm not; did you know? I didn't, not until I slept with my face smothered in a pillow and a man that wasn't supposed to move moved in the elevator while I watched his hands because they scare me the most and he smiled soo close to my face I could feel the absence of breath looming from the gap in the middle of his two front teeth. Balance doesn't mean anything with two shots of vodka and a shot of gin sprinting down your throat, along with only an image and no full realization of where you'll lie down to sleep in two hours. Who knew it would be in the most comfortable bed in the world with your best friend separated by a body pillow you've managed to tackle in the middle of the night and hold onto for dear life right fucking next to you? Waking up to Burberry and eggnog pancakes with a syrup (syzurp) and butter concoction, and watching coffee steam out of open-lidded mugs, just hightens my aching and the sound of ringing in my ears and my worry about the time and awareness that I haven't taken a vitamin in more than twenty seven hours. He said I looked as if I ate healthy, so I bought a box of Mike and Ike's to prove him wrong and ate half the box on the roof of my car until my fingers froze and tears ran down my neck and I gave up nostalgia and remembered the taste of you and cried harder. Mike and Ike's literred the pavement of the street when I tripped.

Meat is the best after three years and no regrets except the silent wishes that I had followed through with one damn thing for more than was necessary. Fifties flappers fascinate me. One's shaped like the wings of a butterfly and a tiara on a baby's head and laughter brought forth by good humor.