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The moon looks big tonight…too big…


I have taken the wrong pill.


A headache led me to the bathroom, medicine cabinet, pear-shaped bottle with the pain killers. Little blue almonds of relief. I took two, like supposed to. But this is something else.


Oh god.


I took something small and blue, and in the same bottle, but now the moon has grown to a tremendous size outside my window – the cream-faced man with rocket-ship smoosh. Mosquitos are like hummingbird-crocodiles – they beat their stubby cherubim arms to fly about and sing me dumb-struck lullabies with lazy-gaping jaws. And I can see the wind. It twists like paper rice noodles through water smoke and –




Hello floor! You snuck up quickly – sneaky cool stony skin. And I can push my face into it and hear the heartbeat of China on the other side of the worldlikeamarble. And I have fire in my guts – I should spit it out. But it just comes out liquid and foam a mess but there it goes and – Darling! There you are! You’re taller from here. I have something important I needed to tell you but have you felt the floor? White rock like the moon, and we’re out of toast and – why are you YELLING? You have so many heads. I would bup them all in turn if they would stop disappearing like mist and fog and the colors are bleeding. On FIRE! And it’s spreading out and takes the world with it, and it all

it all





This is not my bed. It smells like piss and antiseptic. This is not my house. This is not my bed. My clothes are paper and I’m aware of throwing up…recently. Pry my eyes open to take a look around – the light is SHARP! Turn it off! Why are there tubes in my arm? Oh god, I’m in a hospital. But I…

Darling! It’s you – you’re here, you…you BASTARD! You promised! Why was it in the house? I don’t care how much you were gonna make! Why would you keep it in a bottle like that? No! I don’t want to hear it – you almost killed me! Like hell. You always say that! I should have listened and left when – don’t TOUCH me!



No, ma’am, he was just leaving.

Yes, I’m sure.


I don’t care where you go. I don’t care. I’m sure you will. Just get out, get OUT! I never want to see you again. God, just GO! Fine! Fine.






Let me go home.

It was only an accident. Not an “accident.”

Let me go home.


The house feels empty. Bandages don’t stick to the inner-elbow that well. Is that what you call it? I feel like it echoes in here. Bits of trash everywhere from his exit trail. Out like that. Minimal protest, minimal shout. I half expected utter ruin, but only stray bits of paper, a button, and partial scraps of things without names. Echoes and dust. Wasted years out on a subtle trail, like tail between legs. Afraid of trouble and charges.


I need a bath.


I can fit my legs or my torso, not both. Bathtub to the brim. All bottles to the bin. I can blink twice between drips from the spout. He’s really gone this time. Good. Terrible man gone for good. Sweet man gone for good. Was no good at all. Good riddance. They empty house feels like someone else’s. Feels like new.

And the clean air comes through the window. Scrubs the layers off the walls.

And the moon

is as big

as normal.