nothing

This one is directed to you-- I’ve told them all about the games, the judgmental joys. I always lost at sports, and even now when I know who the ending is talking to, I can’t let go of who you made me. My elbows are cold and my palms are sweaty, I’ve got less to go on now that I did twelve years ago
Pressed against the foundation of our daughter’s bedroom, spooning in her absence I caught the last train to Manistee, where they vacationed on their birthdays. Feeding dolphins toxic reform.
I’m whipping the back of my slaves, but only with good intentions . I’ve never been bought or paid for, something that I’ve always been remorseful of.
There are flakes of snow that drip like spit from the windows. Glass void of ideas or thought.
The inches of debris have lasted the longest, but not out of happiness. Out of boredom perhaps, maybe it was because when they touched, they didn’t mean it (I know I didn’t).