Pixie dust, *****.
Our world is bleak and sick
filled by clumsy ***** searching for their next trip
shaking red hands in a haze of cigarettes

Me.

So, as I have now lit my cancer stick
inhale my moment of what is truly calamity
a recognized but slow-moving demise
maybe I will quit tomorrow.

I only smoke ****, man.

And who does not enjoy a drink or two
or seven?

Some hole in the wall
that has great chicken wings and cheap Chardonnay that sits over the water;
can we sit and forget the rest of their pointless lives or being broke
and sit just slightly apart
that we can not help but want
and do, touch.

Our smiles, postcards from our togetherness
what was a glum and still depth now rippled by our laughter

I am happy with that, with you.
I would love to stay forever.

Sincerely,
one twisted soul reaching out to another.