Come Hither.

Everybody's high on consolation.


Get up in the morning, look in the mirror. I'm worn as a toothbrush hanging in the stand. My face ain't looking any younger. Now I can see love's taken it's toll on me. Think I'll spend eternity in the city. Let the carbon monoxide choke my thoughts away. Pretty bodies help dissolve the memories. They can never be what he was to me. He was always there. In every one of my recurring dreams.




Just an aside here, but should I feel bad for wanting to ruthlessly murder people in a relaxing place like a coffee house? Seriously, the next time I go down to Starbucks, if I hear one more poorly-researched argument about why "religion is just a tool to control the masses, man" or "it's our sacred duty to live in constant prayer," I swear I will send both sides either to oblivion or to their maker, depending on the winner of the argument.




"A warning to the curious, a message for the meek. It's better not to be in love, than to be in between."

{ An Angelica's }





Rusty Halo.