driving home from dinner at my aunt’s house and looking at christmas lights, glancing into windows, glowing trees and silhouettes of people, in clumps around tables, lone figures on couches raising beer bottles, lit by the epileptic pulse of a television, thinking about people, people in general, lives, all of them, each of them, and it was as if the world was actually a snow globe and i was watching a moment frozen in time, i could almost hear the plucking music, it was coming from the radio, have yourself a merry little christmas, merry christmas, merry christmas. silent night.
tempest hair and stains from the coffee i drank back when i thought i was cold blooded. i tried to melt my veins with the warm rains of early september but i only bleached the tan out of my skin and now i’m faded to match the coming winter. pressing my back against the wall and breathing in and then out again and feeling the concrete uninterrupted by my existence. this is what it means to be spent, doled out like food stamps to the pieces of the world that didn’t give anything in return. i still can’t remember my dreams.