something like copper and smoke, i can't wash the taste out.
i never was quick enough.
this week starts with me crying. at the keys. bawling.
getting up early and drinking too much coffee.
some kind of requirement. i don't know.
here's me with a sour stomach and a lingering afterthought for the more recent books i've read.
porn stars and manifestos.
feels right i suppose.
confused and mixed up and wanting to hear you say those words to my face.
i think i've had a crash today.
something of a breakdown.
watching the news and seeing the filth of present tense.
cnn. you make me hurt.
lucifer. you shit all over the carpet. i hate you.
Tmobile. your such and asshole. i want to talk to my parents.
i dont know what to say to describe how much of an asshole i feel like.
miserable and poor with words.
i have to stop dreaming about them.
about rollercoasters and gunshot wounds and knocks at the door.
too late. cancer time.