Drip, drop, plop/ No llego
Drip, drop, plop The couch is clean. I mopped the floor and swept out the dust and tidied the table. I even folded my clothes. I didn't put them away, but I did fold them. I tried. I did the whole bathroom. Hung the towels. Threw away old creams and empty packages. Got rid of the papers on the floor and disinfected my piercings. I even did the dishes. You know what else I did? I meditated. Just so you know. You, who are always telling me to calm down. I stayed home, to sleep early, so I could get shit done tomorrow. I crept in bed. I did my best. And there they were. Alone. Mocking. Aligned center of the apartment: my keys on the floor. So far away. Not even under the spotlight. The bulb is fried. Pause. The faucet drips. I stare blankly at it. I try to breathe in until it feels relaxing. It's not. I can't get out of bed. If I do, I'd have to face the undone wrinkled blankets that have been swarming all over the place for days. I start a list. There's tuppe...