"yours is the music for no instrument"

Telephone wires were never-ending eels flowing through the sky as I shut my eyes and sun bathed my skin in light, bringing out the pale pigment embedded throughout my skin. Sunglasses cut into the bridge of my nose and I could feel the accumulation of tears in the beds of my eyes; with every blink they followed a pattern down my cheek bones, landing in the dip my collarbone makes, searing vicious words into the skin that lay there. Pecans stabbed my hands while the floor ripped open the skin of my heels and there was yelling and people cracking eggs on the pavement and drinking the yoke out of gutters on rooftops. My mind's like a tape reel repeating itself to a steady chaotic beat, and nothing seems real when I think about it. Grass stuck lightly to my feet as I walked along the golf course in a honeymoon dress that blended in to the color of you hair which was a never ending bracelet around my whole body. There were lightning bugs swarming the skin of my legs, as if I was polluting the air around them, and they just needed some sort of wave from the captain to swarm. I remember blushing as I laid on the couch because memories of you were pulsing through my head every(everyeveryevery) second of the day; and I sweat, making everything I wear stick to my body while I vent to her. Feeling as if I were drowning in the humidity of Houston heat (and there's nothing like sweating enough to make your hair plaster itself in slivers on the nape of your neck.)

Waking up in the middle of the night and reaching for hair you know isn't there and letting the shingles of the rooftops dig into the bones jutting out in your hips. It's all apart of some childhood memory I'm fabricating, right? I want to remember those things?

When it's summer, I'll put all my pillows on the opposite side of my bed and sleep with my head where my feet used to be, because in the summertime, the sun shines through the window, and I've become addicted to moon settings and sun rises, 'cause that's just how insomnia works. I've almost completely given up the luxery of sleeping now. I crushed the skin of a peach and let the sack of juice seep out and down my chin, like a mosquito on a windowpane and sometimes I wish I cried peach juice because then crying would be so much more attractive than mascara rivers.

If I close my eyes, there's a tributary film to every dream I've ever had playing, and when does it ever stop? Peeled fingernails, burned collarbones, and torn knees is all I have to show for being a human being; being fragile is all I have. His eyes were burning, reflecting fire, and smiling straight through my chest. Intoxicated ramblings, somewhere next to me a bird was pecking at my calves, and there was a stream of conscious thoughts flowing across my lips. Like water trickling through my fingertips, I felt as if I could melt into the cracks of the cement, and no one could squeeze me into their palms anymore. When I rested my fingertips against the frame of the door, the pads of my fingers quivered with my pulse, and my shoulders rolled back, and I fell; out of life or reality, I'm not really sure myself