cy mba l s
2 021 : met hod a nd mad nes s
black coffee writes screenplays at two in the morning and wears thin leather gloves to cover the ink stains on his fingers; hides the bruising under his eyes with expensive dark sunglasses; ignores the whispers of insomnia with a sharp tongue and bitter smile, certain that if he ever slept, he would dream in noir.
coffee & martini & tea (or: thirst) by Jessie Lin, XII: poetry
gin martini takes a long drag on the rooftop of some old acquaintance’s apartment and tunes her heartbeat to the thundering of the bass drum downstairs; (breathe in) presses a stiletto into a dunhill stub, reaches for another from the recesses of her purse, and wonders if her daughter will notice her melting gums. (breathe out) chamomile tea outlines his veins with a fine tip sharpie, presses dried carnations over his eyelids and tries to fade into the margins where he scribbles letters to strangers in the yellowing pages of his childhood diary, covering entire sheets once filled with the looping letters and dotted i’s of i love you, and i wish you were here, and do you ever miss me?
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