she tells you through a text that the doctor prescribed her valium for her insomnia.
you don’t know what valium looks like; but last night you a dream that it spilled endlessly out of a bottle like cough syrup and blood and
drowned her as she slept-comatose. isn’t that how these things work
anyways? bullets shoot through phone screens. thoughts travel from your head to hers
in the night.
pillows like pills. sheets like paper. tired moon prescribes and prescribes, lab coat gray with craters and dirt and
from future fires