On nights like this, your thumbs run on the qwerty drunk, like you dipped them in a bucket of spirit. You type, you clear.
You type, you clear. You want to type the things your heart says; you want to write the lyrics of the songs your head hums. You're worried, too worried you forget to breathe. You're scared; so much that you're afraid your heart will melt and spill out through the openings on your bodyif you go to sleep. You're hungry.
You won't touch anything that is food. The walls of your intestine glide, villus to villus. You remember the rum bottle under your bed, the only thing belonging to your ex still in your apartment. Every time you sweep, you do not let the broom touch it.You just let it go around it like something contaminated. You pick the bottle, you open it. You do not understand how the bottle, aside from its label, holds no history of alcohol. It's totally dry; as dry as how the relationship with him made you feel. Drained.
Your eyes see things in twos and threes, your head bang; it has a woofer within. You finally will a hand to push the straps off your shoulders, you turn the bra 180 degrees, disengage its hooks, drag it out the left sleeve of your top and throw it nowhere exactly. It alights on the ironing board; one-half on it, the other half dangling. You love how the chiffon caresses your breasts. You stroll to the kitchen in search of something to calm your nerves. You pull open the drawer. You pick a serrated knife. You runit on your left palm until there's an indication you'll bleed. You drop it. You pick a box of matches instead, you open it. One after another, you strike the sticks on either one of the box's brown edges, and each burning stick, you stick into your mouth and close quickly; the used smoke choreographing out your nostrils.You pick your cellphone. You tap your right index finger somewhere on its back to unlock it. You click on the Facebook icon. You type Temi Enemiginon the search bar. You clear it. You type lilly Sings instead. Your phone beeps low battery. You turn off your data and make a mental note to watch their singing videos sometime. You sit on a chair. No, you won't lie on your bed. You want something uncomfortable so you'll notice it if you want to die.You dose off. You wake up in the morning. Dead.
