I have a hundred dollars worth of coke in my jewelry box. I’ve had it since 11pm. I got it for some one else. It’s not mine (of course I know, that’s what they all say
). No, I’m finally through with that bitch jenny. I just thought about him
when I had the baggie in my hand. I thought of when we met, of the Tantric lullabies I wanted to sing, his waterfall eyes branding a name into my soul, his words billowing in the spring air. Tonight I sit on my hardwood floor, half boozed off a good bottle of Yellowtail Shiraz. Intoxication, lust, and memory fumble over the antiseptic square plastic keyboard of a charity case computer. Dvořak blares throughout my home, where I have pulled splinters from my aspirations.