3 . 21 . 17
It’s funny how warm things make cold things better.
I’m talking about coffee and rain, but people too.
I’ve been crying all morning but now I’m looking at the shivering city with a mug in my hands and I’m feeling okay.
Safe. The city is the one in pain now.
We cried on the roof this morning.
Her tears screaming to the overcast sky — those idiots made her feel like nothing.
They laughed and passed around her vulnerability around like a bottle of wine,
gulping her down with drunken pleasure — cheers!
My chest erupts, shaking no no no no
no no no no no no no
get it out
get the image out
shaking with anger at them
shaking at the emptiness ringing in her
convulsing at the pleasure they drank from her
their heads thrown back, bellies full with hallelujah !
while she’s a hollow glass bottle
a cold nothing
am i fucking disposable?! she cries
are we fucking disposable? we cry
I’ve been shivering all day
her hollow body echoes with their laughs
ringing in my ears
throbbing mockery into my temples
I shake and cry
get them out!
get them out
get them out
she tells me we can shiver together to face the emptiness of the world
we can make ourselves warm
we can make this place warm
we cry for one hundred stories like hers
her hands in mine, still cold and glass
together we can make things warm.
