Twin Steps - Serial Parade - Junkie Song
[ mutilated hang nails ]
The tiles had sand and velcro underneath keeping them level and in place. The bubbles in the glass of water told a story of how time had passed. She hasn’t learned how to say no quite yet. It is just too easy to say yes. To say maybe is not an option. They share spoons but not straws or even sips from cups. He washes his hands more than anyone I know. His dry knuckles with hints of coagulated blood near the edges of each crack whispered about their pain at the dinner table. He forgets. But when he remembers he pulls his long sleeves over his hands. Her lips were similar in that she just never stopped licking them, biting them, and slowly sucking the blood from an over-bitten wound back into her mouth. She liked the taste and wasn’t concerned about the look of her dried lips as he was about his hands. She knew people misunderstood her habit as nervousness. She didn’t care. Days off aren’t the same anymore.