paul.

i escorted you to the river to help you wash the rags she left molding

in your washing machine. my hands wouldn’t turn to soap no matter

how hard i scrubbed and i couldn’t get the shadows of her out of the

sheets or the pillowcases or even the curtains. i couldn’t get the cats’

claws out of the carpet or the smell of their piss out of the basement

floor. i kept trying to sing the notes on key but we’re tone deaf in

different lunar cycles. and i watched the london bridge fall every

night from my bedroom mirror as the clouds suckled in more and

more of my tears and i watched as their bellies fill up nice and

round like the snow globes lining the shelf in the corner until they

burst and never stopped screaming out your name.