Stints

Toothpicks.

The boy leaves.

Toothpick.

You burn a body filled with poison then stick it in a jar.

Toothpick.

The girl that helps you find light is distant.

Toothpick.

The music burns your ears and your eyes.

Toothpick.

The man drinks.

Toothpick.

The queen is filled with directionless rage and tears.

Toothpick.

The boy never flies home to you.

Toothpick.

Pills and a bath just hit pause but not stop.

Toothpick.

Words. And words. And words.

Toothpick.

The sisters fight.

Toothpick.

And hospitals.

And toothpicks.

And keep boarding flights.

And toothpicks.

And you’re never quite sure which hand you want to hold.

And toothpicks.

And toothpicks.

And toothpicks.

And no never means no.

And toothpicks.

And the shadows and disease and poison come for everyone you love.

And toothpicks.

And the hearts close up.

And toothpicks.

And toothpicks.

And toothpicks.

Toothpicks.