bits of denver.

my stomach is cramped and unwelcoming the chocolate that i've loaded it with to cover my bad day again. pinching and unyielding, i curse it with obscenities and move along. just move along. but 40 hours later, i still haven't slept, and the ceiling is different and denver's the same. the bed is smaller, and they all see me for who i was.

boy and i were going to drive to denver this summer. he wanted to see where i grew up (so to speak) and what my high school looked like. he was eager to see the stairs i always went to when i ditched class and the house i lost my virginity in. i wanted to give my past to him to examine and judge.

instead, this weekend, i slept alone in a four year old's bed with powerpuff girl sheets and a nightlight that i couldn't figure out how to turn off. there's a baby in the next room, and i don't know how to turn her off either.

i refuse to wake up tomorrow morning. and somehow, the eyes take it.

this city is depressing me, pulling me further and longer and tighter and dimmer and thinner than i've ever been. hanging on to the edge of the shell that used to be mine, i begin to climb up the side and chew the fat with seven girls ... all made of mind.

and thank god i wake up truly alone.

for a minute there, i thought i meant something. i'm just who i used to be.

and the clouds keep on, just like fallacy dotting you.

i'm getting bored with words and numbers. i think i'll turn to trains.