nickle
cold and fickle

blood home to bone and bone home to skin

now your blood is on my skin
out from beneath yours
your body is hallow but your last breath is swinging in my hair

i hold you until the warmth leaves everything behind
your eyes, your fingers, your heart and now your soul
you become white. frozen. gone.

time has stopped. i died there with you.

"Is this an emergency line?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
"What is your emergency?"
"I just want to know what makes an emergency an emergency. What has to happen?"
"Are you in physical danger?"
"Sort of."
"How so?"
"There's a wet spot on my bathroom floor."
"A wet spot? Did you slip?"
"Not yet."
"That's not an emergency. Did you write a note?"
"Yeah, sort of."
"What does it say?"
"'For details, see http://tootallfortinytim.tumblr.com'"
"Hm. That's your blog?"
"It's not my blog."
"Do you have a plan? A weapon?"
"Um, I guess."
"..."
"..."
"What is it?"
"Why, you looking for ideas?"
"Sir--"
"Okay, I know. Don't hang up. I'm embarrassed to say."
"Well, you can tell me."
"I have...a kitchen knife, lots of aspirin."
"Hm. Not much of a plan."
"No, not much. Do you need a good plan to make it an emergency?"
"No. I guess not. Do you need an ambulance?"
"No. Not at this time."
"Well, I'm not sure how to help you."
"Just talk to me."
"This isn't a chat line, sir."
"How long have you been working there?"
"..."
"...c'mon..."
"...5 months."
"Is your supervisor around?"
"She's asleep at her desk."
"Slow night?"
"Every night is slow."
"Hm. I know the feeling."
"So what is it that's bothering you so much?"
"Other people's happiness."
"Well, that's selfish."
"No, I mean, people being happier without me."
"How can you know that? You're just projecting."
"I can hear their inner monologues like megaphones."
"No you can't...silly."
"You sound nice."
"I'm not so nice."
"What do you look like?"
"I've got short hair and black nails and jeans with a rip in the knee."
"Stop it. No you don't."
"What do you look like?"
"Like a freight train, moving slowly on delay, always crawling and rumbling the ground around."
"Ha. I bet you're short."
"I bet you're short."
"I AM SHORT! Oh, shh-- (whispering) I am short!"
"Well then we're both short."
"Do you tag? Like graffiti?"
"No. I can't write on a chalkboard, it gets all small at the end."
"You should try it."
"What should I tag?"
"Write whatever. Write your note."
"I don't wanna write that. What's your name?"
"Anna."
"I'll write 'Anna'."
"I won't be happy without you."
"Shut up."

november

metal
nickle
cold and fickle

put down your promises
pack up your plans for winter
patch up that hole you've put in my november

take these broken bones off my bed
they make pretty stacks of wood yet sickening stacks of red
these walls now drip and drip with every word never said

up in the air, sits my paper moon
she's wrapped so tightly in her smock
so very strong, so very not

no longer the string used to sew her tomorrow to today
for now I am nothing more than the fray
i've become the maybe she hides between her tuesday

buckets of nothing in every corner
baskets of faith hang as a i morn her
begging myself to remember that it is not i that tore her