at the other end of the couch. he sits. spitting blood into a clear glass.

i'd humor about how much of my life exists mostly in stretches of moments between someone. bleeding. if it didn't feel somehow easier to crush my skull into concrete. loneliness sounds like chewing glass. and the world won't go the right way round again. all the sunlight's dropped like cherry blossoms in late fall. stuck to the rubber sides of shoes. and i want to scream and scream nonsense until my insides break and go. let loose their choke holds to trade up on pollack for mondrian. i want to be sound that breaks and goes. waves you like eels spent for water. this time, we all wait for the slow drip of the drain to stop. so he can go to bed. ruin the sheets. and i can trace out our life on the godforsaken wall-to-wall carpeting. these human stains.