-=Controls=-
-=Data=-

-=Old Yarns=-

-=Yesterday's Knot=-

-=Tangles=-

-=Newly Tied=-

-=Loose Ends=-

-=String=-

-=Your Twist=-

-=Skein=-

-=Fibers=-

-=Secret=-

-=GOT LOVE?=-

-=Written at 12:25 a.m. on 2003-02-02=-

Suffocation

I feel it all slowly slipping away, without any strength to close my hands around it before it's too late. I keep meaning to clean my kitchen. But each time I try, I end up standing there. In the middle of it. And soon, I'm walking back to bed, just to lie there. I stare at the triangular pattern of holes in the ceiling. I wonder what was there, what was hanging that the last residents put up. There are clothes all around the floor in the entire apartment. The plants are dying. I'm about to start dumping ashtrays on the carpet just because I don't feel like getting up to the trash can. The curtains I hung never did get put back up after I tore them down, and I keep the tv on all the time to hear voices that aren't inside my head that tell me, "You're done." Caller ID constantly reminds me he won't ever call again. The salt shaker is lying on its side.

Two weeks ago, we'd be waking up together to get breakfast at the Empire diner.

I so hate this and what I feel.

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