vendredi 2 octobre 2009

A dark room. Two kisses on the forehead, one from him, one from her. Four hundred dollars on my night table. A closing door. And then they were gone. I knew they were leaving. It was a matter of time. But I didn’t want to come to terms with it.
I want my mama. There I said it.
Drinking a Black label on the rocks, smoking reds in a familiar bar, with a familiar buddy, watching what used to be a legend on an strangely flattened television screen was exactly what my doctor ordered.
I didn’t want to talk about all the bullshit that had been building up in my stomach for the past year. I wanted to disinfect it with the poisonous substance I was ingesting.
Saying goodbye. Saying goodbye. Saying goodbye. No matter how many times I say it, I can’t get used to the idea.
In the words of the Gossip… it’s a cruel, cruel world to face on your own.

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