I've been falling asleep intentionally with the light on. I tuck myself into a comfortable, cozy little ball and then let my eyelids drop softly close, the light seeping through my closed lids. It is safe. I wake up in the early dawn and walk sleepily across the room and turn the light off. I sometimes wish someone were turning off the light for me. I wish that I would open my eyes and see only the encroaching sunrise through the window, the artificial light having been replaced by the dark encompassing night, the softest of creeping light.

There is an ever growing pile of clothes on my bed. I have a feeling I will be sleeping on some possibly worn clothes, socks, blouses. It feels like such a kid thing to do, to be sleeping wherever, however, in whatever circumstances may arise, prepared for anything. Now I travel with my orthopedic pillow. It doesn't get more punk rock than that.

I miss, I miss, I miss

Possibly the idea of you;

If the day is bright

I miss the smile of you, cheeky

slightly cynical,

jagged teeth on meaty lip,

I miss, I miss, I miss

my bright red chin, rubbed raw

courtesy of an afternoon shadow

I miss, I miss, I miss

And I am certain you are seeing other girls, that you can and will and want to. Why wouldn't you, red blooded macho man that you are. Terrible with emotions, direct and forward questioning, hedging, curtailing, making a run for it. I call you melodramatic, a soap opera in hushed suspense and anxiousness. Take me away, Calgon! My ever present practicality goes up against your romanticized ideas and yearnings. I want concrete while all you want is a feeling, an instinct. I am the ever frigid bitch who wants quantifiable results. Show me and I will fall.