Thursday, February 17, 2011
Sunshine at the end of my street. luck rises with my every morning hard-on. I still growl for you. you still purr for me. I say, good im alive- good nothing has changed. i guess.
With every warm day this winter fades. sunshine at the end of my street, in my skin, in my blood. I want more than how it works, the box with windows where i do something for little money, more than the passing of road-kill on the nothing more than a drive to and from work. silly numbers on paper at the end of the week. I want car crashes and fires i want motel rooms and debits owed. a hot new mouth to kiss - yours. and i don't want roses, i want marks and bruises. a scar showing you were once mine and i yours. i want to pretend there is something more than the filling of space between us more than the fuck of lies of our life and death. This time is totally lost to me. i don't remember it. I take no sense impressions with me, no voices, none of the road noise, the hours waiting. Nothing sticks but smoke in our hair and clothes. It is dead time. It never happened until it happens again. Then it never happened.