possibly maybe

I think that I would like to have Bjiork playing when I die. It's sublime, I can't stop listening to her. Something about laughing through the pain that reaches me. It's just primal.

I am surrounded by clutter these days. Worry. Dishes. Exercise videos. Traces of boy affection. Leaves the plants decided to disgard in a dry spell. Whimpering from the eternally sad. Anatomy terms stuck to the roof of my skull. Dirty dildos and sheets. Bills I can't find beneath mail. Overused emotions. Hints, reminders, fortunes told. Unopened target bags full of tasks: do dishes, fill toilet paper, take off chipping nail polish.

I'm waiting for her words to hit me... "There's more to life than this." "I wish I'd only love and didn't have to touch" "as much as I enjoy solitude, I wouldn't mind perhaps, spending a little time with you." Instead they are words distant and prevoking like a pulpit speaker or dust particles you can't help but suck through the skin eager to live just one more moment.