a time for waste and bad taste and long lines of white...fiends and friends and absolutely no difference along these spotted roads and black tar dream aways...
she said that i had alot of class but it was all low and snake-bellied, ragged and worn with an edge to it...class that fit into her night and schedule...if only she didn't have to hold me steady by my hair with her white-knuckled fist pulling out strands that were once soft as rain...now only greased and eased back out of my blue tissue paper eyes...crumpled by thoughts of what comes next
last call or her appetites or states of grace or a free fall faster than einstein's laws can predict...no flight...no fight...no light or reason...just two thumbs up from the bartender...i nod and pay the man and he slips a sweating bottle into my shaking hand...i could have almost smiled...almost
hardcore and nothing more...and her mouth was a frantic "O" of lipstick...an impossible shade of red somewhere on the spectrum between new blood and sunrise...her cigarette grew an ash as long as her sigh...as impressive as my thirst...
but she turned away too soon...didn't see me catch fire, from the eyes first, then the breath, then it took care of itself from there...quickly and all at once |
Submission Name: paper cuts
