November 17, 2012 by Wayne.
She said: If you’re anything like me, you hate doors.
He had the weirdest fucking taste she gets some stains on her sleeve a caffeine shot doused in kerosene
Say, “Please come back to our small talk and empty conversations.”
She says, “You don’t talk like that in real life.”
“Neither do you.”
So I looked into her portfolio of success stories and her faint smirk
of studied indifference and today, everyone I saw wore glasses she turns the volume further down and says
a casual tragedy is no big deal
I wake up to a blaring siren from the ground floor of the apartments.
put on a pair of jeans, trip, stand back up
shirt, jumper, jacket – parka but shortened, ending slightly below waist, barely covering crotch, colourblocked and water resistant
start to sweat
stuff phone into pocket with jittery hands
make it to the door and the knob is too hot to turn
drugs and doors and alcohol and girls and girls and girls that’s no fucking way to go, man, that’s no way.