The mouse returns. I see it in every corner, every shadow. It moves the traps under the sink without ever setting them off. The weather drops, and I bury myself under covers while the windows are open. One night in the West Village I got so stoned that I walked home without feeling a single cell in my body.
The days pass. I smile in the right places, frown when appropriate. I make lists, plans, I go out to drinks, but do you want to know a secret? I feel nothing when I do it. Like January had sunk its teeth in me and forgotten to let go with the sunshine. I walk forward, one step at a time, and it looks like I get where I'm going. But my skin is numb when you touch me, and I don't know how to make the trip end.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment