Thursday, June 12, 2008
I'm sitting high like a queen on a pile of dirty laundry on my bed. A goblet, perched on my bed frame, holds only my backwash of a cheap bottle of red wine. My library of bills, failed short stories, a mess of novels, all of which I once claimed saved my life. Oh my jewels -- my costume jewels in the perfect jewelry box my brother gave me for Christmas!! This one room -- no windows -- my castle. I imagine a crown. A crown of thorns. And the wrinkles on my forehead bleed for every woman who knows this lonely room.
I think it stinks in here.
¶ 11:43 PM To that, I say:
Fine.
and
Good.
