leo pierce | district five | cbd2

 LEO PIERCE

It's like choking on air. Taking bites too big to swallow so I've got vomit stains on my pillow and the stale taste of blood on my tongue. It's an empty apartment except for when it isn't, hands around my throat that squeeze a bit too tight and I could ask him not to leave bruises but I don't. It all falls around me, acid rain gone glossy under street lights and I just stare at the places it burns. Bare chested at midnight with split skin on my knuckles and no memory as to how I got there. It's all these cries for help that come out as whispers lost in bitten pillows and purple smoke.

Orphaned, but not. It's complicated because everything is. I say I don't care and I'm pretty sure I mean it. As long as there's weekly check in the mail from the only person that ever cared about me. Hard as I tried to care about her, I'm starting to wonder if I even remember her name. She's just another face, worn monotone by time and our memories were strung up in the wardrobe and eaten away by moths and roaches.

Sleeping 'til noon because I've got better things to do. Fueled by spite and bad sex and I've stopped wondering why I wake up more exhausted every day. Slowly leaking out from bloody noses, broken ribs heal just a bit more wrong than the last time.

I could be better but I'm not.

Not can't, should.

But won't.