Riot Gear

One day until departure. The afternoon was warm, again, rife with potential, and when the thunderstorm pummeled the city it seemed merely appropriate. I made it home with seconds to spare. How New Yorkers magically reappear with the sunlight; where are they all winter? I'm still here.

I listened to your songs today, it's been so long. They look the same from the outside but something sounds different now, they grate at my ear drum. I've begun cutting shapes into my skin again, trying to release the ghosts within but they refuse to leave, how comfortable they are! My face is tired in the mirror, sallow. I seem merely a shell, keeping up appearances but full of shards inside, brittle and breaking without pause. Perhaps in time we'll all grind back into grains of sand, wash up on the same shore and lie still.

But it's nothing to wait for.