Wednesday

The only time I feel comfortable is with a fix between my fingers in my left, an empty palm of the right, no hand to fit, no glass to grasp, no arm around my shoulder.

Just me, armed with what little words I have left that breed internal understanding only.

Normally, about this time, this time where life has become such a fantastic mess, like a 1000 piece puzzle half way done that was strewn up in the air by your fist coming down so hard on the surface.
I feel like that half way done puzzle, all those little broken up pieces.

I feel like that fist with swift determined force.

I feel like that table who was only there for support but took the blow anyway.

Circumstances have put me in each place.

Well, my uncontrollable heart was more the culprit.

Can't you see it?

A bleeding ominous organ with furrowed brows and menacing smile as it hovers over whilst twisting and cutting and tying all the strings of the puppets all together and all apart.

This organ is greedy but over-flowing with love and space if you need to take refuge.
It will leave the light on for you, but shampoo and soap will cost extra.
And be prepared that while you'll always have a room, it might not be in the same place you once remembered. A mobile hotel.
It shifts, and moves, and retreats back into sketchier parts of town, and when threatened will up and run away.

You can't blame it really, I mean most usually leave the rooms a mess, tv on, bed unmade, all the little plastic cups used and squished. but then, it doesn't say there won't be a pretty, unassuming maid to come clean up after the mess you made, even though you don't leave a tip.



ps. I should just become a nun.