wishful drinking.

lips like dominance.
and I can slide ice cubes down
my throat. in hopes that wishes aren't meant
for stars.

because my fingers are on fire for answers
in the way that words are as heavy
as the feathers we train them to fly with.
when you make a mockery of indecision.
it's easier to breathe in off beat odors-
than take pain at face value.

so. in retrospect- maybe it wasn't so smart
to throw the glass at the wall. but the shatter felt so powerful
I could feel the fragments of hope lingering in the smell
and the way the pieces hypnotize.

I feel numb.

and the stars are starting to blur.
and they're falling.
                           falling.
                                     falling.


I feel numb.
so perfectly numb.