the snot.
I could never imagine ignoring the drip from your nostrils, coating your lips in a warm film of mucus.
the terror, the tin cans you bend.
the collection of walls you've shoved your head through.
the blood.
the indifference, the confusion.
the cats purring at your bedside.
the fur, the hair.
the unrequited itch.
the warm glow of 5:00 am on fake glass in your friends home.
the awake.
the sex I pretend not to feel.
coming in the sheets, washing the sheets, sleeping in the sheets, weeping in the sheets.
the stares I get for drinking J.D. and coffee with only a book for company.
the warmth I feel in empty, the warmth I feel in alone.
the girl at the table beside me with the awful hair and the awful boyfriend.
the pitty.
the sadness,
the sadness, my brother, my friends,
the sadness is lingering.
the unshaved legs.
the busted teeth.
the vacation.
the city.
"this city, is eating me, alive"
he screams.
and all I can do is watch.