Thursday 6/15/2006 11:33:00 PM

It's hot on one side of the room. Cold on the other. Only inches change everything. Whether it smells like tar. Or tastes like sweat. The nicest truth he could come up with was that he wished he did.

I feel so sober lately. Even when I'm supposedly drunk. That I've been cast in concrete. That the only way to move is to break. I try to remember the sensation of being touched.

But I can't recall.

Neither the thorn nor the velvet. As the air whispers under my skin. Little words. Fragments of fading thoughts. Memory leaves me with only images. Moments stalled.

And even it has little empathy left.

Folding quarters in half. Forcing off our socks. As if we're ever bare. Cupping my hand to catch the last of the light.

I went so many places I can never go back. And now they own everything I thought I had.

It wasn't enough then and it still isn't.

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