alltheavenueslookugly

it was pretty for a moment.

but coming back to this spot after so many years – and it’s not like opening an old wound as much as possible, stretching skin back and back until it can be folded into itself. this place, it smells old and familiar and sour like a dying grandmother’s basement after a devastating rain. the sights are all the same. everything that can be ruined has been ruined, or it is so close to death that no heroic measures should even be considered.

even these words. all of these words. all the words repeated to the point where i couldn’t recognize them any longer, but they have reappeared with no disguise and now i might be comfortable again.

but i’m also compulsive and my eyes are dry and i’ve become accustomed to singing my songs with my head deep in a toilet while half-choking on bacteria and dust.

and the borderline gets darker by the hour. i really need a hug from a complete stranger who would laugh in my face.

i’ve knocked four times and where the fuck have you hidden yourself? i am in a secret spot where nobody will find me. i hide well. i draped a smile around my shoulders, dressed in my best tuesday evening clothes, and now i’m ready to dehydrate in this cavern – my songs are just old echos with no musical sense, and my hair is dirty and stuck to my skin.

it is 3:30 in the morning, and i’m waiting. that bridge in san francisco is beautiful and beckoning. i want this to hurt and i need this to hurt.

~ by alltheavenueslookugly on 2017/12/16.

Posted in re-blogs