I don't mind losing a man to himself. The quiet is better than the empty sounds. Walking through Soho, I don't want to get over you.

And I don't mind shaking your hand at the door. We wake in my apartment and hold ourselves together by strings. Rolling stones. Dancing all night before the light floods the room in the morning. You were always weird, but I never had to hold you by the edges like I do now.

I better get my shit together, better gather my shit. Thigh-highs and black ribbons. All dolled-up in straps. And I'm free now.

I missed you before I saw you. And my fingers are always cold now. Stuck inside my pockets on the way to the subway. A careful heart in Brooklyn. Three days haze, empty and broken. Even the sky cries.

And the sky cries more than me, because I don't cry. Haven't yet. And I'm waiting for the breakdown. I'm waiting to write the apartment story. But nothing's coming - no tears, no words. Just indifference. And an inherent need to not eat. An emptiness that keeps me floating.

But the freedom is so divine, it drowns the pandemonium. Anything to avoid the fall back to you.

lingerie from Yandy

makeup by Lisa Thai

photos by Jen Senn