oh baby, here comes the sound. |
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hello.
Bio: i am a hyperintelligent shade of the color blue. I live in Denver with my cat, Simon Moon, who constantly tries to kill me. navigate,
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Not dead. Just busy. despite a bad weekend, i still am a sappy sucker. at the walker art center, minneapolis. post-road trip without the boy ramble. lunch. |
05.02.03 - 9:24 am i cannot do the smurf. i'm sick of only putting poetry in here. look for short stories to start filtering in.
--------------------------- She smiles, and that makes everything okay. I breathe a sigh of relief. She is beautiful, and I tell her so, which makes her laugh. We go out to dinner at the same old place. Later, I hear children laughing outside her apartment window; the sound of toys scraping against cement and shrill voices in what seems to be an argument. I pull my shirt closed, fumbling with the buttons. She's sleeping. I wonder if I should leave. It's just the same old things anymore, anyway. I wonder what she would do, waking to find me gone and a "Dear John", rather, "Dear Melissa" letter on her kitchen table, under the ceramic chicken she picked up while at a garage sale in some nameless city. I think she might cry. Maybe pick up the phone and call that bitch friend of hers, Joan. Fucking uppity bitch, that one. She'd call Joan and say "He left me," and Joan would do a secret dance of joy on the other end of the phone. I think she's a dyke. She'd tell Joan what a bastard I was, and about how she didn't care, really; all the times I left the toilet seat up were starting to get to her, anyway. She'd tell Joan about how she was going to leave but I beat her to the punch. Melissa rolls over in bed and, still asleep, puts a hand on my thigh, like she's trying to dissuade me. I'm young. I can do what I want. I'm not even out of college yet. I take my shirt off and lie down next to her, my head sinking into the pillows. She shifts so that her head rests on my shoulder and her breath tickles my neck. Sometimes, I wonder if she's ever thought of killing me in my sleep. I think being a business major is killing me. ------------------------------ this is supposed to be sort of bret easton ellis style (think american psycho). it's a bit of a short story i'm working on about despair and college. (they go together quite nicely, actually.) |