-a sound, coming from behind the bathroom door, a sound I have never heard before in my home, echoing in the roundness of poreceline.
I open the door to find my partner crouched in grey waters, his tears running down, like melting icicles dangling on the eaves of his agony.
I strip naked and climb in behind him, and wrap him up in my legs and arms to keep him afloat, and we ride his sobbing, stinging waves.
The pain, the blank stare of the world, jobless, a dieing brother, boredom, and a desire to escape. This month has been the coldest yet on our tattered nerves: And the only answer left while we live this long chapter, is to cry.
The most underrated emotions are those knitted out of Frustration’s barbed thread. His tension is without rhyme or reason, but it is colored black and blue; A blue-black bile has settled in his stomach and churns it backwards.
I love him: His snot, his shit, his blood, his wax, his losses; For better or worse.
I’ll stay here, and hold on for his dear life, and be silent-