Mary Montezuma

True despair is staying alive.

Hope. Forward. Nah, we’re all just dying animals.

This is noise.

The feeling is taking over my whole mind like the darkness canvases the sky at dusk.

This isn’t my body. This isen’t my decision. There is a satellite underground, I’m the proxy.

I have no one on my side. Sunday night at work, we get drunk, I make out with Thomas. But I’m Mark’s girlfriend? I’m probably Ben’s girlfriend too. I don’t even know who these people are. They’re all just a blob of male to me.

My mind is clogged with abusive chemicals and memories. I am at another party, in the bathroom, darkly dazing at my makeup in the mirror. I look like a pink wolf with cartoon eyes.

Why can’t we be who we want to be?

Even when the bowl on the table is still half-full of edamame or guacamole, and the waiter has yet to come take our drink order, I’ve already begun to miss you.