The Cap Is Off

Blank screen.
Looking for a way to rhyme homeostasis and faces without seeming contrived.
Looking for a way to be poetic about the cap I left off the lube on my dresser.
As I left the house, to write, I noticed I'd left the cap off the nail polish remover as well.
There's something in there.

I'm looking for a way to tell you this old french woman is absolutely obsessed with The Cranberries.

But I've lost all my words.

They're just hanging out in the alley maybe.
Or further than that.

I bet they just stayed at home as I walked to this coffee shop.
I bet they said "fuck it."
They're just on the futon, laughing about me.
They're in the bathroom, huffing the nail polish remover, and smoking cigarettes inside.

We're meant to go to the patio to smoke.
But.
They've left me.
I doubt that's in the rules.

Rebels.

These words are deadbeats. Jerks.
They run from their problems.
They slip out the fire escape while I'm in the washroom.

They don't return my calls.

I need a butterfly net, and a dictionary.