17 hours ago
Crushed blue ecstasy from the plug who lived with his aunt in the home filled with boxes and plastic wrap. sugary pink and lines of cotton candy blue, chillin’ on an anastasia beverly hills glow palette. sheets saturated in the scents of other lovers. we spend the day, naked, greeting each other as strangers trying to calm the thump of their hearts. i place her hand on my belly—“this is where my fear lives. its screams divert my flow of blood to parts of me that swing at ghosts who cannot hurt me.”
i slide her hand up my chest—“this is where my anxiety pounds nails into my walls and hangs up rusty keys with no home.” her hand wraps itself around my throat—“this is where i’m blocked. my own voice triggers me, threatening to make me remember.”
i offer my wrists, palms towards the blue falling out of my nostrils—“i feel love collect here, trying not to fall out of me, trying to make room for me.” the rush turns on the lights of every home of every emotion within me. my thoughts spill onto her hands. i breathe space into my spine. wrap the moment around the part of me that is mourning. remind myself to not grieve what’s still here. blue-stained dollar bill in one hand, hope in the other.