according to the phone LCD it's my birthday

so, happy birthday i say
into the phone
into the answering machine
borrowed long-distance minutes
with my back against the cold steely door
the last stall -- far left side
third floor
sitting on the mud grey tiles
echoing my way across the country
all i want is to stop crying
press the flesh of my right middle finger into the grout line
and wonder in these short instances between pulse and silence how to stop the spin that takes hold with my eyes closed
remember the time you fell asleep with the light on?
i say it because i want him to answer the phone
because i want someone to tell me that i'm a stupidfuck
mostly, i want to talk out loud
make things real
he picks up and knows
i cry into the phone
long slow sobs that make me cold all the way through
i forget where i am
he says stuff i should have known already
tells me to stop crying
and to stop talking so fucking much
just fucking shut up for a second
he whispers
i hang up the line
and wonder when i became such a ridiculous person
so emotionally unchecked
suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to walk without direction
i'm giving up
i'm tired of crying