the people look like ache, shriveled and lost inside their twisted interpretations of movement. we're tired here, spitting out apologies and niceties, the things expected of a well mannered member of society. looking at the hands passing by, wrinkled and lined with everything they've loved- it's exhausting to think of every life you've contained.
if my woman was a fire she'd burn out before i wake and be replaced by packs of whiskey cigarettes and outer space then somebody moves and everything you thought you had has gone to ****