each morning, save the ones i spend in her bed, i watch the ceiling fan turn hoping to find something hypnotic, calming in its autonomy. but it never comes. it's just alternating space and dust-covered wood moving through the thick humidity of this makeshift bedroom. save the days i've been lucky enough to share a bed with alternating hers, i've been sleeping on this couch for far too long. my throat is hot and most mornings feel like summer, just the parts i hate most about summer. i am not enough water and too many words, wishing your hands were here to run over. the world tells me i think too much, about you and it, and sometimes i agree but never in the morning. in the morning i just want your hands here. your fingers wrapped around which ever thumb of mine you like best, tightening vice as you fall into sleep. in the morning i am too honest to pretend that every story isn't somehow rooted in love. i am too honest to write about the world when all i want are your hands. one on my chest, fingertips grazing carrion, and the other fixed 'round which ever thumb of mine you like best.
-lamon
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manifesto goes something like: feelings are gross. we should be making art and revolution instead of thinking about feelings. and even when the art is about feelings, at least we're making it and not crying or punching walls. oh, and muses are bullshit.
- Anti-feelings Campaign
- Chicago, IL, United States
- lamon and samantha will probably be sleeping on couches for the rest of their lives.
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