pressing rewind and fast forward that flight back home, but it feels nothing like home at all... and on the other side of the map, fucking flipped upside down, where i tend to skitter-scatter every now and again.
an ex flirts alone with loneliness, patronizing my validated sorrow caused by actions and lewd words. his life, well, it seems to be he's writing prose about his troubled parasitic paradise, the one i fled from, months ago. he seems to assume i am asking to be constrained (again) by the words he speaks and the words long ago said, put on repeat, as if they could possibly alter the sake of today, or someday soon.
i stumble across the dreary sighs i can't believe my throat would allow. such a travesty. and right before these droopy big-city sleep stolen eyes. sweating coffee through pores you enthralled and pushed sweat through, thousands of miles before i made it back home, and I'm not home even now. alas you're more misplaced on these states, than i. and that, my dear, is a feat, even i have bowed my head at with defeat.
five cigarettes i run with and a pocket full of lint, thinking of a pint of booze to drown our names in like alphabet soup that i despise. neverthefuckingless adoration becomes present at these words that you speak, and i try my damnedest to think only of the regrets.
five cigarettes deep and a one way ticket,
he speaks.
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