I never wear makeup, anyway.
It’s the white noise on repeat. It’s the
same story repeat,
felt against the chest, pounding against the pumping blood.
I never wear makeup anyway,
so why would that even come up?
I want to paint my eyes a crimson shimmer
but you said you didn’t like that picture of me.
We stood in Target and bought a cheap tube of purple lipstick
that I’ll never wear.
We should be together
but we won’t because habits die hard and
don’t die at all.
You say: ditto.
I say: that’s not fair.
It’s the static that I can’t see beyond.
fingers through a
echoes of binary code of laughter and love.
You have facts that you like
to sing to me, reminding me daily –
it’s the same story,
stuck on repeat in my mind.
I want to write a future without uncertainty,
but I can’t find an eraser big enough
for all these women I’d have to write out
before finishing our own ending.
You say there’s no story to write.
It’s just as well.
I ran out of erasers yesterday.
/ / /
26 April 2015