i was born on a Monday
all other details have been omitted for their irrelevance
unimportant in the way the morning dew could have clung to the humid trees crying impossibly from the heat
or that on that side of the world everything was brand new but ostensibly old to someone else
my nature doesn't allow me to believe in the mystical and even fate is a faraway dream that I only let myself cradle when I'm feeling particularly whimsical
like right after eating a suspiciously delicious fruit or the fizz from my carbonated drink still remaining even after two hours of sitting forgotten on my kitchen table
the stars do not dizzy me and the twirl that you tried so hard to perfect while spinning me did not sweep me off my feet
but it did garner a sort of appreciation for the way things are
the way they have always been and in that there are little instances of magic gone unnoticed
I was born on a Monday
a casual work day for anybody
routine and abundant
auspicious and careful even in the way I first opened my eyes to see those rays of sunlight I can't remember but know were there
behind a curtain or shrouded past a family of trees
permanent

i once saw on television a man taking a bath while a woman drew nearer and nearer with a hair dryer that she dropped into the water
there were wisps of lightning bolts and my fear of electrical sockets found footing
flourishing in the air pockets of a hypersensitivity that harbored phobias as I deemed fitting
that summer the thunderstorms seemed heavier than usual and when the power went out your nose instantly gained sweat and my stomach tightened at the idea of a tornado coming to sweep us away
into uncertainty
towards another state that didn't seem so heckled by natural disasters but those don't exist and the barren landscape can almost eat you until you disappear
you're afraid of aging and I'm afraid of not aging gracefully
everyone talks about how time is eternal but as I declutter my apartment I realize time can be found and that the ending comes when things leave a space

eating fast food as I watch you wear your old Hawaiian t shirt you adopted from the bottom of a bin at the local thrift shop because everything has always been comfort over style and you can't change now
a fry falls onto the lap of my thighs and you ask me when the last time was I used my kitchen floor for dancing instead of pacing around but my mind falls short into the drops of condensation sweating into a couch that I hate sometimes and admire for the sturdy way it always manages to **** up my back
I'm already what I want to be but I pretend that I throw around my identity like a knick-knack hacky sack and I'll always blame you for the aftershock effect of feeling like I've been spun in a tumbler and left to be drunk by the gnats you breed by never throwing old fruit away

my mouth dries from too much caffeine and my head becomes dehydrated
a beetle the size of a thimble slips into my coffee and makes his way into my throat
floating into a tunnel where there's only flooded acid at the bottom waiting for you
all the music is beginning to sound the same and I can't tell them apart at parties
when they ask my opinion my feet vibrate and I try to calibrate all the laughing boys in the back of my head to what I think I know
but the noise tosses my sentences into word salads
unwavering in your methods the song never ends and the candy never dissolves in your mouth completely
you can measure the distance and the dissonance of the people you've met under your belt like a buckle tightening inside a car when it stops

the ivy grows upwards
clawing at a ceiling fan  
looking to catch a glimpse of movement
the dust collecting on the blades is only proof of it's constant use
propelling a back and forth lasso of breath and exhale

my body has grown since last summer
the color of my eye mimicking jars of honey on your favorite shelf
I used to seek out momentum, the tumult of a sweaty night or the ongoing pulse of crowded people in small houses laughing about the spilled wine on hardwood floors
I can't tell if I was ever that person or if she was a catalyst of boredom swamping my every decision-making unable to make one properly for myself

I want noise and quiet
gritting teeth but a perfect mouth
I can't help but think of all my bones when walking outside
keeping me upright and unbreakable if only a shadowy and milky illusion
those places in my mind keep collecting freckles of dust and the people I've left behind now have blurry faces and unrecognizable personalities
but where there was once melancholy for different times
there's only a dog pulling me forward as the ivy grows up

The devil lies on top of my windowsill
With whispered spell. In an ensorcelling hell,
He sniffs tricks up his sleeves and his tongue has become numb
To the weeping and gnashing of his rotten teeth.
The words he speaks are only born to deceive.
He creeps into sleep inching towards my infant dreams
And takes their life from me. Hold my throat, abort my screams.
When I wake take all that I see; blind me to the truth with illusory inventions,
Fact erodes with the friction of silky fabrications. Hold me in your visions
As the phantoms sing hymns of their unholy afflictions, for eternities
I shall be trapped in his perdition.

-SLuR