the bones in my hand rattle as I stir the coffee that has become luke warm




she’s probably getting dressed after a night at that weasels house

it’s been a long time




the nicotine running through my blood wasn’t enough

to stop the cold windy mist slapping me in the face as I sit outside a breakfast cafe at 1:45 in the afternoon

is this what adults are supposed to do?

is this what life becomes after a series of unfortunate events?

cumbersome hearts ready to say hello for what may be the last time

so long


Reminding you to eat your cereal with a fork and to do your homework in the dark.

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