things weren't meant to be. left unsaid.

the clasp broke. this class does not work.
terrible need to flee from this ten minute break into the rest of my night.
start drinking heavily inspite of the/my cold.
i will be blinded tomorrow, but for now prose and passion are painfully obvious.
my mind flips from stopping to change, changing in the mirror.
what do i have time for? 5 voicemails, seven missed calls. one whiskey?
i call a familiar face. he never answers but is always there.
tonight he is inside out. i can hear his voice for once, but it is a million miles away.
he tells me, like all the others, not to go to that bar.
i tell him i am not going for that. he does not believe me.
part of me is trapped there with that acrid stench of bottles and bodies and my neat little corner.
swept clean of blood and bones. trace hairs and perfume betray me.
i walk in. the room tilts. tonight, i do not know yet, the room will not tilt.
the disembodied family voice guides me down three blocked roads.
construction is painful obvious-ity number one.
i sail merrily in the next direction i am given, only to bypass the mark completely. this is number two.
i toil on, fevered and wretched, sweating through my hair and makeup. sick and lovely.
i reach the middle. and stop.a large truck obscures my view. number three.
i know without seeing that parking will be non existent. it is. home run.
i glance into a gaze at his long black car. he is in there somewhere, operating his wheelbarrow in hell.
he might have even known i was coming, been warned. watching the door.
i drove back to other bar. where we met. where i feel like i live.
hey beautiful.
that's me. despite my wrinkled t shirt and virus.
two smile in my direction, one smirks. we share a secret.
that i am broken.
i have a feeling more know than not.
he gives me a way back to that other bar. and i sip my drink. in my mind, i go with him and everything turns out different.
i do not think of what i should. only of turning back the clocks and changing things.