corey's gloves
��������� �����corey's black fingerless gloves, lifted from him right before machinal. meagre snow. a raffle ticket - three - a chewed stub of a pencil -i like these gloves. corey was sleeping on the table when i said i would give them back to him at the party i plan on attending later tonight ... i think everyone should wear an article of clothing that belongs to someone else at one point in their lives. you get a feel. sheathed in blue and white. bracers, gauntlets, protection - a costume piece, a ragged slip of someoneElse who is still now, breathing, feeding energy. my fingers twitch. it's an experiment, this exploration, encased in new material, and my fingernails seem to smile as mutilated as they are, at the sensation.
oh i am a sybarite.
i hallucinated a dog running across the street, dreamed about getting the mail, and shadowboxed in the elevator, hood up and fists tight.
a gray t-shirt and a package of wifebeaters, the name of which sounds absolutely ridiculous - but what is it, a-shirt, sounds even worse. after the phone-call, being told i sounded strange. was asked if anything was wrong.
nothing's wrong.
i'm winning.
i think.