Writing Love Notes On Prescription Pads

She often lights a cigarette to avoid worse habits, between the numbness and a faint idea of what it was to cry or smile. Her eyes are my escape route.

She likes waiting until the hot water runs out so she can lean her shoulders back against the cool, tile wall. I want to ask her to fit me inside her book bag, because I'm just dying to crawl out and scratch the insides of her veins.

We are sunny side up and full of urban smiles this morning. Maybe this capsule filled arrogance will carry me through the day.

She's sound asleep as I punch away with fingertips to the keyboard. Covered up, but not well kept. These are the secrets we sleep on... the ones that will send us all to hell.