foolshopes

my mind is idling low and steady and the voices are getting restless, thrashing against my   skull with the anticipation of a child on christmas morning, they howl with   laughter and spit on   the flames that   dimly light the   shadows under my eyes. they’re coming they’re coming they’re coming one day when my hands stop drumming against my thigh   impatiently   and the static of   my car radio dies,   silence will come knocking on   my temple’s door her hands icy cold and her grin all but pleading-- it’s time to play.