NaxnaVIII

 The sun peeks angrily through the window, coating everything in a layer of silver, stirring motes. A rap song comes on the television, and creaking, puppet-like, Anna reaches for the remote and changes it. She exhales and I think I see dust. I somehow manage to move my joints, ankle, knee, wrist, elbow, and walk to the window. I grasp the dark blue sheet, still on the sill from our last nineteen-hour cartoon marathon, and reach for the corners of the window with it. Each pin I place paints the room black. Anna sighs with contentment, easing into her comforter. I shamble back over to the bed and collapse. She hands me my energy drink, and hol

tired of this lame contrition, this old condition, this inflated self-important story - girl loves boy loves some other girl. I'm the exception to the rule; the reason that I'm not enough is that the crater she left in you won't be filled by anyone. the reason that you're not enough is that exact same hole in you that you don't have the strength to fill yourself. imagine that our indian summer lasted - imagine that out of the cold, there was light - imagine that for some reason you came around, and saw me waiting for you at the turnstile, and you're actually happy to see me. but instead you're the one rotting in my dreams, be