friday.

smoke.

i waited in line for a stall of my own.  long curtains separated each section.  i knew i shouldn't be here.  i was pricked and fell asleep.  curled up on the toilet in the house i grew up in, i woke up.  my right hand held a boy in the shape of a small bird.  his beak looked like two fingernails glued together.  his matted feathers were hot pink.