Dry

Cold ass apartment. I’m loverless, bored, and freezing…

Smoke. It’s been three days since I’ve been high. I definitely should have snuck some on the plane… I wonder who I know in this cold ass city that could deliver. With my luck, there wouldn’t be any.

Write. Desk in the corner, broken chair. I can’t think, my pen isn’t moving. I can’t settle. I finally think of something and my favorite pen has run out of ink. I throw it across the room.

TV. I cross my legs and before I know it I’ve been trying to pick out a movie for a whole fucking hour. I undo myself and before I can get up, I have to wait for my legs to stop tingling.

Bed. I think about him and his wet mouth on mine - tracing his fingers along my torso. Before I know it, I’m touching myself. It feels like a tight shell that’s been sitting in the sunshine after the tide has gone out. I cry instead.

Radiator. My eyes are burning. I can’t tell if its because I’ve been crying or because of the “heat”. I’m having trouble breathing. I should probably open a window but its negative fucking 10 and it hasn’t snowed this much in Brooklyn in fucking forever.

Shower. Finally, I feel warm. I get out, I get dressed… I itch.

I need some water. I’m so fucking dry.