TipThis is like a drug deal.Tip by crimsonletters
Except it's in broad fucking daylight and my hands are too sweaty. I rub my palms on my sleeves, biceps throbbing dully in remembrance of last night's manic ordeal.
The kid, a boy, probably seventeen or anything as dangerous and reckless as it is, looks at me peculiarly. Like this is an actual drug deal.
"Do you want it?" I mumble, "I'm kind of in a hurry. Do you want it?"
"Eh, of course. Half the price?"
"I know," I say, more to myself.
He frowns a little, just a little that his eyes are about to squint. Goddamnit. Damn shit fuck. Stop. Stop thinking, bitch. It's probably the sunlight. I might just be overthinking-- I glance behind my back to check.
The queue is getting longer--or thicker since no one is really paying attention. All forms of not giving a fuck, or trying to look like it. Black is a prominent color. The irony. To articulate: This is conformity, if you'll think about it. The whole fucking deal is ironic, I think.
They don't seem to mind with the
applesyou lose a shape-- youapples by crimsonletters
lose it when you are
too calm and liquified
under volatile pressures
what shape you hold form--
you lose it just like that
feeling of remembering--or trying to
remember that shape--
your organs are-- pineapple
brain-- lemon heart--
why are you thinking in fruits?
you lose a shape--
you lose shape.
chapter three, the untitledsingle me out of halloween taleschapter three, the untitled by crimsonletters
pale as a highway high speed chase
threatened by twenty seven more miles per hour
you'll single me out and i
will cry for my heroes:
delta, orion--all the dust
and distance worn
the red planet is never the same
where are we from here?
singled out and bored.