11.06.06 - 10:39 p.m.

it's all poetry with you; never prose.
never just talking. it is
gesture and promise and think,
not plan. not do. for what am i asking?
and what for? i've only got a phone, a
keyboard; you think i'm pretty but that's just
a guess. you don't know how my
my eyes pinch shut when i smile or
that i bite my hangnails 'til they bleed.
you are like talking to myself with bad
reception.
to be so sleepy at twenty-three must be tiresome.