The night is **** warm and there are thunderclouds looming in the horizon. Its skies are neatly stained with a *** stain looking stain of clouds, scattered in the yellow moon of 7pm.
I walked past a wake tonight, then a funeral then the graveyard. Im walking out to buy some cigarettes, menthol for my mother and reds for myself.
The night is a ticking time bomb rigged to blow. Like the pulsing ache in my head or the medicine in my mouth waiting to be crushed between my teeth. Instruction says I should **** on it as long as I can. Says its supposed to relieve the pain.
I fight back the urge to bite. I fight back the urge to do a lot of things.