In The House

Waiting to go to bed again. Waiting to wake up again. Waiting to try your dress on again. Suck your stomach in as you practice your smile and pretend that you are thinner.
Listen to the drums in the park across the way as the beats bounce off the window panes, wishing you were on the side where the sound came from. Dancing, in the middle as the vibrations split and spray like pin balls that trace circles around your pores. Your flailing limbs reflected by the lights in wide eyes. Spread your palms out and away from your heart as you were taught, then clasp them back in again to your hips.
It is time to bathe, the herbs have been brewing even though you are taking pharmaceuticals. Thank god you can just buy them over the counter here. You are double dosing on what mother nature has to offer with the intention that it will clear everything up faster. The internet is a warm and wet breeding ground for all the information you don't want to need to know. Delete your history.
You made your excuses why you couldn't see him tonight in the end. You even thought about telling the truth but backed down last minute and gave him half. The half that makes him miss you more. The half that makes him feel sorry for you and hope you will get better soon. His body wants your body just as much as your body turns a waterfall on its head when you think about it, and you think about it often.
But no, excuses made, white lies softly woven into the carpet where you will tread with discomfort for the next 7 to 10 days. Please let it be 7, you say, or even less. Smother your vagina in honey and go to bed imagining you are sticky with something else. Fucking herpes.