10/2007
philosophies&&atrocities
אני חייבת לזוז. כבר שלושה ימים שאני שוכבת במיטה.
“Johnny, this isn’t the last time”
The road stretches up front, the window-shields dirty with last year’s rain and memories. The empty highway elicits that notorious grin.
“I’m not an insomniac, I’m just occasionally sleep-deprived”
“We need to go”
“And I’m not an addict. I just like to relinquish control”
This isn’t a book; it’s a tranquilizer for the world’s greatest fuck-ups. Reading my old letters, the ones that I wrote when I still had something interesting to say.
“Momma, where do babies come from?”
“Do you see that star, Amy?
“Momma, it’s me”
“Do you see it, Amy?”
“Mommy, you’re scaring me”
“You see how it’s flickering? –it’s not dead yet. I’m not dead yet, Amy”
“It’s me, Momma, it’s Sarah”
“Turn off the lights, baby”
“That’s the sun Momma”
I sit; I mumble incoherent stringy thoughts; I let it go.
And you leave me every single time.
“I never go to sleep”
“How come?”
“Because ifI go to sleep there is always a chance I will never wake up”
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