If You Knew Who I Was, You Would Never Grow Old.

Digital Ash playing on this slow going Monday morning. A Digital Urn playing from your speakers on a darkening Saturday evening. It's always nice to recall the lies people tell you before they walk away. I have so much to do before three o'clock comes around; yet all I can do is stare out the window and wonder why what happens even happens-and why nothing ever happens. The tree with golden finger tips stands still as it guards my house like a watchman in a button up suit. There's an empty space on the left where his companion used to stand, just tall enough for a six-year-old girl to climb and hide; pink bows in her brown hair, staring at her father with her brown eyes. I wish I could still climb up trees to hide.
The overhead light is too much, the lamp behind the kitchen table is not enough. And I still need to shove all those drugs down my throat; another morning another six doses. Is it really October 5th already? The heading on Journal # 4 is telling me so. "Dating, Mating, and Cheating." I don't even need to read this chapter. Or maybe I should read it all.
I am out of coffee. I am out of energy. I want to sit outside and read books all day. I want to talk trash until Friday morning, when it's picked up from the curb. Instead I'm going to write over 750 words about dating, mating, and cheating; then I can tell Mrs. Sallis about all the assholes that dedicated Bright Eyes songs to me, but never made love to me.
Happy Monday.