a monday night 10:31pm
it's a pulsing kind of hurt, in between a purple bruise and a fresh paper cut.
it's low and in your stomach, suspended in air by weak strings attached to the walls of your gut.
it's usually noticeable at these times of night or when the thought comes to mind.
when you're out of work, on your way home.
when you tend to find company with only acoustics.
when you tap the dark screen and just see the time.
when you notice how long your hair has gotten and your razors rusting up.
when the only contact you gain is during a mixture of dimes and nickels.
you know the one right?
yeah, the one that goes
"oh,
to be wanted"
»allison
