(no subject)
now i know what all the craze is about.
being a heartbreaker is like a shining trophy of resilience, especially for someone like me.
and in some sick way i feel like my transformation is the equivalent of the scrawny third grader who gets picked on and pushed around and eventually becomes the bully.
or maybe its just the smell of gasoline and fire that seems all too romantic to me.
rotting rickety bridges don't deserve concrete columns.
i threw away some things today. in a wicker basket at the foot of my bed.
a holey undershirt
photographs
burned cds
ancient love notes
i ate an orange and threw away the rind.
clutter that i don't need
went out into the driveway and waited for the truck to come around.
the hot concrete reminds me of useless bridges set ablaze.
a man in green drops off at the end of my street.
the sound of grinding and crushing drowned out his voice, his dirty hands outstretched in gratitude.
his eyes were brown.
being a heartbreaker is like a shining trophy of resilience, especially for someone like me.
and in some sick way i feel like my transformation is the equivalent of the scrawny third grader who gets picked on and pushed around and eventually becomes the bully.
or maybe its just the smell of gasoline and fire that seems all too romantic to me.
rotting rickety bridges don't deserve concrete columns.
i threw away some things today. in a wicker basket at the foot of my bed.
a holey undershirt
photographs
burned cds
ancient love notes
i ate an orange and threw away the rind.
clutter that i don't need
went out into the driveway and waited for the truck to come around.
the hot concrete reminds me of useless bridges set ablaze.
a man in green drops off at the end of my street.
the sound of grinding and crushing drowned out his voice, his dirty hands outstretched in gratitude.
his eyes were brown.