the susurruses of an urban wildling // calligraphic + letterful endeavours
Chloe indulges in strawberry soft-serve
and licks her fingers after and this feels better
than the time she let a boy put his face between
her thighs, this feels better than when she took
three Tylenol for a headache, this feels better
than when she finally accepted her imminent death.
Chloe doesn’t remove her jeans before bed
and doesn’t believe in prayer. Chloe wakes up
with her mascara smeared and four new texts.
Don’t you think it’s time to stop romanticizing
un-sharpened pencils, Chloe? Don’t think
you’re fooling anyone with the broken eggshells
stuffed into the kitchen sink. Chloe will hold
the hand of someone who is very important to her
before the end of the week but for the life of her
she can’t stop crying into her coffee over boys who
don’t care. Sometimes she almost forgets her name
but then she finds the CD with it scribbled on like an
afterthought. Chloe, I know how sad you are.
I hear it every time the needle skips.
A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance.
Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967