Grace: the refinement of a soul through time.
The bathtub was scrubbed
But someone knocked the china dolls off the windowsill
Whitey won’t be happy
I’m not happy
The things that make us crazy
Crying on the couch
May be the last thing we need
But the only thing we have
I was up
I was eating popcorn kernels
Trying to save the world
I think you were crying
You would be had you’d been awake
I can kind of remember how it went
I was sitting in the shade of a tree
On cracked patio stones surrounded by dying grass from too little rain
Like a child on the hard ground
It was you
And this house
Cause a cat ran by
And I’d like a cat again
June 16th of last year I wrote:
Box of wine
The room was a prison of hot breath and heavy blankets
I sat up from the bed
Not careful of waking you
Moved the sheet that covered the window to one side
There were heaps of leaves being blown about tree stumps, shaded from the midday sun
It was too late to be sleeping
I wanted to be out there
I thought I’d escape, and tried the window
But you had already pulled me back in
Under the wool blanket of your hot breathe and sweat
June 16th of this year I write:
I just got a blog!
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