white noise
By Haylee Millikan
white noise
a slow death, sodium
thiopental flowing through
your shackled veins,
pulsing, quickening fast.
that monotony - calm and
heavy. cement roller, alarm
clock, six-in-the-morning-
every-morning, your coffee
is ready sir. white noise
a picket fence and a dog
to come home to. my apartment
has no smoking policy, so yeah,
why not a pack a day.
death and I are friends,
anyway. if anyone calls me
"honey" please remind me to
cut off the ring finger on my
left hand. eyelids pressed tight,
thoughts only jogging in
lululemon, what-should-I-
serve-for-dinner-drown-
out-the-snoring-internal-
monologue.
Haylee Millikan is a second-year senior at the University of Washington, studying Creative Writing and Philosophy. She grew up in Spokane, but now lives in Seattle where she runs the opinion section of The Daily, and works for the Women's Action group on the UW campus.
© 2015
