sparks

Every time the phone chimes, the queen
awakes her bees in my stomach.
Bees count the days until their permanence
through ulcer eruptions.


My insides are blooming but I can't write a thing. I can't draw a thing. I can't and don't have time to sit. But tomorrow, tomorrow I will turn off my phone and pour a glass of water and sit silently in a room of my own thoughts.

"You know what I noticed? His smile doesn't reach his eyes. You, me, everyone else I know smiles and you can see it in their eyes. Their eyes smile. But him, there's nothing. His eyes say nothing at all. They're empty."

Brief observations that borderline the superstitious have been interesting me lately.