(no subject)
i had bought a pack of camel reds two thursdays ago because people in their cars look at least content pressing their lips to something rather than nothing. i had felt like picking at a scab or being somehow detrimental to myself, so i wasted money that i have little of on the hope that the fucking cigarette between my little-girl fingers would kiss back. i tried again tonight, and if it did, i didn't feel it. i threw the rest of the pack away. nine o'clock was better: jenn and i, swinging, overly-filling malts that stick to the insides of your mouth. eleven.fortysix is being overly-analytical. (tonight is overly-adjectives) sara ann is in maine, i want to drive and talk to her like we do. jason has probably eloped with that girl by now, or they're still at the beach. exhausted of everyone and their "maybe"'s -- have some fucking feeling in your stomach and run away with it. i wish i had arms to go with and a place to disappear to. and a red bicycle and a radio with the velvet underground, the nico album, on it and a place where i'd wake up from warm sleep and make blueberry pancakes that were round and content-looking.
being eager makes words ugly.
being eager makes words ugly.