The trouble with me is that I am a vacation,
a place to get lost in,
until you find yourself.
Come and be captured in cool waters,
bronzing and barely noticing that all the doors are locked.
My bags for life have commitment issues,
buckling and making a break for it,
mint sauce and milk shake splatter down the gutter,
and I let out a guttural scream,
because everybody and everything leaves.
One thought on “Bag For Life”
So haunting, visceral, and claustrophobic.
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