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| She is ridiculous. She has ladders in her black stockings and cigarettes burns in her sheets and her mattress and she has wild hair like a lost dog, but you know what they say: love is a dog from hell. A dog from hell with a white blaze on it's forehead and she bites you. No one else knows these marks, things that someone else will wonder about: is it a woman? or is it a mark from a little fox. She doesn't know these things, so there she goes, there she blows, cuts like a knife so sharp and small that you won't even realize until you're old and pathetic. It stays with you like that, a soft and slow recklessness like a butterfly in the pacific, and you won't even suspect it until a tsunami of love hits you in the late future, and then you'll know that she was always watching, always laughing with the drugs and the booze to help her stay there patiently, waiting. She didn't stop until it was over, or at least until someone gave up to surrender. Her very life narrates soft desperation, and this very night, she witnesses everything happening, and she will pray for everything to stay there as it was, when everything was golden. | | |
| Hits in the car. The endless poet. She fiddles with your radio because she can't stand reality without a single moment of love. She can't stand being sober because that means that she can't be sad and soft with desperation. This ounce of pain that she keeps in her womb, it lets her grow her lies and the quiet surrender of being alone. That's what surrender really is you know, she said. Loving everyone and everything and loving every moment of it, because it all fades the next day, gone with your morning headache. | | |
| The bored ones are always down to fuck. | | |
| Baby, I think I'm like you, but not enough.
Baby, I think I like you, but not enough.
It used to be that once you were old enough to know these things but what are those and who was this fucking genius who got to decide how old you were supposed to be to know them anyway? I think I tried coke because you once told me you loved it and the sun was shining and I couldn't see your face because I was already high and anxious not to be late for class and your smile was too sad to look at that I wanted to have your blood running in my veins. I wanted this because I could see the poison in you and I wanted to cure you by sharing this poison but what really happens is that it drags you down and I REALLY NEVER KNEW THAT ROCK BOTTOM WAS SO FAR DOWN and I haven't even gotten started yet. I can turn back now if I want to and I know that I don't even really need to but I still care just enough to be reasonably curious and I think I know right now that I might possibly take this route down my life or my psyche or whatever. You're coming me at like a missile and I see it from a million miles away but I think I might just be the one to be able survive it even though I'm probably not. But still, I'm proud and I'm stubborn and I'm egotistical and I think I love you. Right now I'm filling myself so full of cigarette smoke and tea that I'm drowning in it and I'm so amazed at how I've written all of this before with such clarity before I actually knew these things. | | |
| I am carving your name in my lungs with nicotine.
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