If He Were The Poet, I Am The Poem

I cleaned my room today, first time since I moved in. It was all just a petty distraction, but hey at least it's clean. There's two wine glasses left over, one tainted with lipstick and half full because I couldn't be bothered to have the wretched taste in my mouth.

I went over to the side of the room that I never visit, that alien land. I crawled over the made up side of the bed and found a left over cookie wrapper, a bottle of water and a toothbrush. I threw the wrapper away. And the toothbrush, I threw that away too.

I drank the wine then. A bottle and then some and made my room a mess again with clothes and make-up. It works sometimes in making me smile, but on other occasions I can tell I'm just trying to cover something up. This is one of those times.

I don't know what I'll do now- where I'll go, who I'll see, what dreams will come true. But at least I know which ones won't, and that's something I can cross off the list.

P.S. I need to get a bike, and a good one. I need a goddam good one with working brakes and lights and a flashy luminous jacket so everyone knows I want to live.