The Reservoir
by Mathew Rodgers 2014
Just another new document to catch the excess flow of my thoughts.
I feel like I'm a story that already everyone knows the ending to.
A laundry list of coffee table songbirds
Saintly figures of the State
Too hollow and not believable
It rains so hard that it sounds like the ocean.
I run my hand through my new hair. Freshly won from the battlefield of the hospital.
To my dismay, it comes out in chunks between my fingers.
I wonder how long it will be until my eyebrows and eyelashes flee my face?
And leave me looking like a pale ghost of myself.
The nurse says to me sternly the longer you wear it the more it becomes a part of your skin.
I wonder if that's true?
My cats tell me that gray is the softest color.
And that things transcendental are difficult.
I feel like I'm a story that already everyone knows the ending to.
A laundry list of coffee table songbirds
Saintly figures of the State
Too hollow and not believable
It rains so hard that it sounds like the ocean.
I run my hand through my new hair. Freshly won from the battlefield of the hospital.
To my dismay, it comes out in chunks between my fingers.
I wonder how long it will be until my eyebrows and eyelashes flee my face?
And leave me looking like a pale ghost of myself.
The nurse says to me sternly the longer you wear it the more it becomes a part of your skin.
I wonder if that's true?
My cats tell me that gray is the softest color.
And that things transcendental are difficult.
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