sjsprWriting

I wake up to acid rain and a door half open.

The sun is shining.

I guess its time to get out of bed.

I put on a sweater with open seams.

The color violet.

Which I like, because it sounds like violent.

I love the smell of humidity and dirt.

I sink my hands into the ground and call it by its name.

I spend the afternoon with a toothpick picking mud from under my fingernails. 

I never answered your text message.

I didn't want to talk.

All communications will now be done through carrier pigeons.

Don't ask my why, I simply decided it would be so.

My lips are pale but I can't remember what cold feels like.

The absense of heat.

I just feel too warm.

I'll talk to you tomorrow 

After I'm done drowning in the ocean.

This can't be right....

Maybe I should stop writing.

Maybe I'll feel more like myself tomorrow.