it’s late or early, depends how you look at it, only my hands and heart are cold, smoke filled garage, rusted tools hang themselves in front of me, paintless brushes, painted brushes and baseless screwdrivers ashy floors and drywall painted with holes from fists and hockey pucks, church pews of razor-slit, spray painted by angsty young i sit upon, unfinished projects are suppose to sit on the other side of the workbench.
Not sure what was going through my mind when I wrote this.