Bested

The Million Bells hang their heads.

Shameful shit.
Fresh drunk, the sort of feeling that makes a wet deck seem the best of ideas.

Head cocked toward a grey, striped sky.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

The rain is seeping through the denim of my second-hand cut offs, eating towards the core of my fragile, ancient computer’s motherboard.

All operating systems lean towards corrupt, like ivy towards the sun.

I am only breathing when I am inhaling or exhaling smoke, as there is proof there- billowing towards the moss rose.

I fumble for a warm can, a damp pack. Co-conspirators. Find one, knock over the other.

The warmth spreading around and between my curls seems to cement me until I pry an eyelid back and the hot pink of one of my impatiens glares.

I reach out, snatch the bloom, pressing it into my mouth, I grimace a smile.

Another mocking face, another witness. Bested.