the sputtering blink of the streetlamp makes you taller then shrinks you then splits you in half so you re trailing yourself on the walk to the payphone your pockets weighted down with quarters and the hope that no one s home you spray paint cinnamon on vines and key the cars you pass by your ears burn and your voice don t sound right so you spend the next week playing weakened rolling three men alone in the dark in your kitchen your apartment can t talk so it s safe for your secrets all the stories you ve invested with a masochist menacing meaning those tired tricks that you play to graft a life to your name and you know it s not yours but for now it s okay you wake and cut your initials in cheap glass to mark a space for yourself when your time here has passed and you re drifted and done trading danger for distance and all those rocks that rope your neck are finally nameless and weightless and faceless and you strip the sting from the stains that bleed the life from your face your cheeks will burn red on a pure perfect day