Things keep me up at night. Like my voicemail. In my sleep, I hear her voice over and over. She becomes frustrated with me. Her voice gets louder.

Please enter your password. Then press pound.
You have one sad voice message.
You have three-hundred voicemails whose retention time is about to expire.
New voice mails don't matter because
You have one sad voice message.

I can't sleep. I wake up hearing static. Every time I think of you, your voice is static. It crackles and breaks up. We lose reception. In the middle of the night I see you. Ringing and crying.

I think about how tall the city is. I picture subways crashing in my fingertips. There are angels in my closet. There are piano keys in your eyes. Sometimes I am a seashell.

Mostly, I am the rust that creeps through blue paint.
Clinging to the curve of a car's hood. Secrets whispered in the backseat.