Raucousness.

I'm twenty-two going on deadlock. I'm a missed hand job and a swift kiss on the cheek. I'm all the unfit chemicals put together. I'm what you've altered, what you've wronged. I'm the one that never leaves too soon. I'm an unanswered request for the rest of my life. I'm the odds that haven't been beaten. I'm the woman that my body doesn't show. I'm the shatterable, the scary. I'm the icy fingertips on your lips. I'm a resilient laughter drilling into your skull. I'm misconstrued. I'm three shots of whiskey thinking of war. I'm everything except undeserving. I'm a vicious circle of overpaid-overhated work. I'm the full stop that never disappoints. I'm the one who has yet to cry. I'm how the story went. I'm the tasteless coffee at noon that cheats the weary heart. I'm the book you forgot to read, to understand. I'm not what came in between. I'm the one who cares enough and remains steady. I'm the unfound, the crazybeautiful puzzle. I'm always the easy road to never. I'm the brief, the astonished, the alone. I'm getting wasted on beers and playing darts badly. I'm trimming my memories of you letting me in. I'm the help you'll go without. I'm the strange bridge over troubled waters. I'm the cut off, the suspended, the departed. I'm one to know. I'm the unwoken morning at Gramercy Park hotel. I'm the twinge in the word sex. I'm late for glory. I'm angry at your hesitation. I'm aggressively working on my grace. I'm the insolent, the red light. I'm square one. I'm the wrong sum. I'm shutting down. I'm shutting up.


Paula Sanz and whatnot.