Thank you for watching.
I don’t sleep. I can’t blame the phone anymore. It, like the others, is dead. What do I do?
I lie on my fists and listen to the screaming. Wait for the screaming to start again. Wait for my heart to stop beating. Count down: In eight weeks I run out of money. In ten days I do my shot. In four hours I will wake up. I will open my eyes and I will leave alone. In eight weeks I will run out of money. It screams. Wait again. Wait again.
When I go outside I want the birds to recognize me. I want to hear my voice when I sing. I want to be warm in a black dress under frost. I don't want to wait anymore. When I walk it opens its mouth and its eyes. It hangs over me like a shade. When I speak I hear it ringing, cold and empty. Yes, I say, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you. And then
I lie down again. I ache. It is never my scream, never mine. In eight weeks I will run out of money. I wait.