I know you , I have your picture or a picture of someone like you on my bathroom wall, next to a letter I got from a man, an ugly, pinched face man.. a man who SWORE he loved me. things don't change and you aren't SO different, I think.. as I rinse the spit out of the sink, a little blood goes with it. and the fingernail marks on the tiles..yes, they are mine.
Now, the gun lay at the floor, the siren silenced in my skull, in the middle somewhere, I remember the warm rain and hold that thought, as you smear my lipstick with the inside of your thigh. And I begin to talk to myself, The little girl in the corner.. face down, pinstripe mattress turn off the TV but its got no sound..you argue. and the static is soothing, echoing..through the springs and what's left go the pillow stuffings. wasn't there coffee? there isn't a cup.. and no how-was-my-day..can I wait here while you are gone, out saving your world. or at least let me dress in private or let me wipe off... where you broke the skin.