I only walked downstairs because I had no sheets for my bed a side effect of having done laundry earlier and neglected to pull everything out of the formerly white dryer that barely works and now I find myself staring out the window again  a window that dumbly stares back from the sepia shadowed darkness outside. I'm only twenty. I shouldn't feel this old, but Becket keeps chanting in my mind  "She comes in the ashes Who loved could not be won Or won not loved." Tonight it's not the coffee that keeps me awake  awake again, again because insomnia is easier to watch than my dreams. I can't remember the last time I really slept  slept without waking up to a cold room and an empty pillow, made colder and emptier by my blank eyes watching where you once were, where you are still when my eyes cracked with bleeding red rivulets of oh so tired finally shut.

04/13/2002

Posted on 04/13/2002
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