sick party
it is in my gut.
the remembering, the forgetting, the awfulness of parties and looks and not looks.
a hand on a shoulder, a gesture, a jerk of the head. come here, can we talk in the other room for a minute, come outside with me, can i talk to you, why are you doing this, i'm over it, it's cool, don't worry about it, it's fine what else is there to say
the danger and the hurt
and the hands, from across the room from through the window. hands and letters and wrists and watches.
and i love her even though it hurts.
i try and it is hard. it is hard but i try.
girls from france girls from italy and california. life on the riviera life in the desert.
and she's ruined things for me. music and shiner and the east side of dallas. everything and nothing. ten years and no time.
i don't really remember, but i know it must have hurt. must hurt. i know there were letters and unanswered phone calls and looks and not looks but i don't remember the acute physicality of it. just the shaking and the nerves, the school days and the guilt. but i catch glimpses. of other girls, other times, just days before and years ago. break downs and fights, blow offs and phone calls, the awful magnetism and the chill in the room after.
being abandoned being returned to. sitting and setting, shifting and smoking and disapproving and just just wanting to not really be here anymore.
che festa
the remembering, the forgetting, the awfulness of parties and looks and not looks.
a hand on a shoulder, a gesture, a jerk of the head. come here, can we talk in the other room for a minute, come outside with me, can i talk to you, why are you doing this, i'm over it, it's cool, don't worry about it, it's fine what else is there to say
the danger and the hurt
and the hands, from across the room from through the window. hands and letters and wrists and watches.
and i love her even though it hurts.
i try and it is hard. it is hard but i try.
girls from france girls from italy and california. life on the riviera life in the desert.
and she's ruined things for me. music and shiner and the east side of dallas. everything and nothing. ten years and no time.
i don't really remember, but i know it must have hurt. must hurt. i know there were letters and unanswered phone calls and looks and not looks but i don't remember the acute physicality of it. just the shaking and the nerves, the school days and the guilt. but i catch glimpses. of other girls, other times, just days before and years ago. break downs and fights, blow offs and phone calls, the awful magnetism and the chill in the room after.
being abandoned being returned to. sitting and setting, shifting and smoking and disapproving and just just wanting to not really be here anymore.
che festa