And He Sat At The Oncologist Waiting Room As Life Dimmed Outside
and he sat at the oncologist waiting room as life dimmed outside
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dizzyingly alone, me and the metal chamber.
đœđžđȘ
the sweet scent of cigarettes and semen on your lips
âyouâre never more alive than when youâre almost deadâ
tim oâbrien
new york, new york
grand central smelt of pennies, ticket stubs, and desperation at 5:15 am.
"where're you headed?" the worker asked.
where was he headed? he didnât realize leaving meant going away. but to go far enough to be folded into memory or far enough to be followed? would his wife search for him?
"connecticut.â
no comment; the worker printed a slip and took his money mechanically.
he needed a congratulations, deserved one for his decision. but who would congratulate a man abandoning his wife?
reminds me of the end of the world and i love it đ€
~~
no socks
are allowed in the red-room
no pretty pink flowers
are allowed
at the woods at night
there are no exits where youâre going
âevil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table.â - criminal minds
paris, france đ„
« ainsi va le monde. ce nâest pas am faute »
life flies by, especially the bit thatâs worth living
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xxii | she/her | psychology & creative writing | desperately searching for meaning in the mundane
33 posts