Monday, February 18, 2013

Levels of poison

My memory of California withers, the never-changing seasons, the vanity and the chronic addictions take up a lesser part of my body and mind. I stopped calling it home months ago, everything I need and want is right here in between the two rivers. Chloe said she'd never go back but then she did, I don't why because I never asked.

When I woke up this morning she was here again, playing her music in the kitchen, dancing over the black marble floors in the hallway like she does when she's happy. I only heard her through the walls before she went to work, now I'm counting the heartbeats until she comes back home. Whenever I start forgetting what she looks like I close my eyes and there she is, flowing like a perfumed smoke across a wasteland of blackest velvet.

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