the good luck hymnal

oh it'd be nice to think of it that way sometimes. and so i do, though not for any reason, and without the sincerity of your eyes watching me. i keep wondering if i'm your answer: no, however much i want to be, you don't. instead you wallow wallow dark and lonely in bars estranged looking for the short smile of anyone who will take you home (strangers are easy targets) and fingers, sometimes good and hands that touch almost just right (might get it right) or be big enough this time around, a friend to your mortal darkness. repeats work so often now.

sweetheart when your lonely, drunk, the touches don't make you better, they just make you more alone (+ one orgasm, two) and your blinding an eye to something here, i just can't seem to press out what it is.

i keep thinking, when thinking about you, of those little boxes of dull needles you press you hand against and it makes an imprint on the flipside: and darling: that's where you are sometimes.

but it's me, sitting here, having calls dodged and hey, it'd be easier to fuck a stranger (i admit) and move on...

so i did.

2004-02-06 | 6:01 p.m.
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