I am tired, babe and if you are asking
me to meet up tonight, well *******. Sophomore
year was long ago and the person I was
left with it. Tired.

I remember, though, (through the haze of ****) a
few sensations; hands were against the body
ruined tortured riddled with drugs and ***. It's
over. And better.

Babe it all depends on the steady hand of
Pretty Girl who draws all those horses next to
me in French; that time on an afternoon when
I was so happy.