Hear me, this is the tune in my head. Right now, it’s playing on repeat. Although this introduction sings along to a different tune, it’s the silver ocean buoyant surfer. The sailor and saint ferrier face. Philomena, lullabies of lovely eyes. Sleep eris knight. Spin a third qua…
This is where I say I’ve had enough, and no one should ever feel the way that I feel now. A walking open wound, a trophy display of bruises, and I don’t believe that I’m getting any better. Any better. // Waiting here with hopes the phone will ring, and I’m thinking awful things. I’m pretty sure that few would notice. And this apartment is starving for an argument, anything at all to break the silence.
Wandering this house like I’ve never wanted out, and this is about as social as I get now. And I’m throwing away the letters that I am writing you cause they would never do, I would never do. Never. // So don’t be a liar, don’t say that everything’s working when everything’s broken. And you smile like a saint, but you curse like a sailor, and your eyes say the jokes on me. // But, I’m not laughing, you’re not leaving. Who do I think I am kidding? When I’m the only one locked in this hell.
Today’s diurnal lessons are: Perimeter; supervise Celtic human sacrifice; algebra; supervise probability, probably. The nocturne, as every Friday eve, holds a writing worxhop.
An Irish man to see the sea, a sad turn of events did he, believe the sorrow sight of me, and tied a knot two forge teak.