Used To

I’m crushing time into cubes of ice and sucking on their edges. Don’t worry about my enamel, cuz it’s grounded down, and grinding out the memories inside of my mind. Like a storage of untried cobwebs and festering mousetraps, my faculties of marbles and jacks collect and connect like hands on a clock, meeting across the rods of their bodies. Fleshly painted with matching tips and counting. Call me cab, I’m drowning in every alcoholic night filled with pestering dance and song. I can’t seem to get along. We don’t get along. Not like we used to... used to...