once i kissed a man pretending to be a woman. tasted about the same.
once i ditched an interview for anne sexton and a small sliver of floor.
once i gave a book meant for you to someone else and now i want it back in the worst way. i don't even remember the title or the author. the book literally fell on me at barnes and noble. it was light turquoise blue and the first few pages were about the ocean and stones and all things reminiscent of you. i made myself forget. i induced old age.
what do you do when your violence is only seen as calm?