we were listening to the smiths, this charming man. the low hum of the music filled the room and the scratch of the record player was itching my ears like claws. it's my favorite band, so by default is was his least favorite.
"the vibes just... it's not me."
and i wouldn't say anything even though it was exactly him and it was exaclty his vibe. down to the crossed "T" scattered in the bands name. that's why i love them so much. that's why i get sick of them so often.
the weather was hot. sickly, slimy, sweaty july. the sun was beating through the windows and the rays were blinding. blocking out the warning signs.
the bed was comfortable, but i held myself still and stiff, willing an external power that wouldn't listen to allow my anxiety to ease. i fisted a navy comforter in my hand, tracing meaningless patterns while he said meaningless words.
a normal summer day.
YOU ARE READING
fascinatingly fatal
Poetryi will squeeze my eyes so tight i won't see your evil, i will cover my ears and i will not hear your evil, and i will sew my mouth shut and you will never hear my evil again.
