the sweaty palms and quiet hellos, the half glass booze, the unbuttoning of myself again. please don't ask. my fingers can't bear to push the sad little plastic through sad frayed holes. can't manage to ignite what fire ms. primitive slowly burns off.
my life is half over or half begun. i'm between this and that. i want to just sit awhile and not think at all...about long sweaty nights, summerhot desire, breaking glass afterward, taking a shoeless walk so that i can feel again...
because the punches always come. the slow strangulation of muscle fibers hiding underneath rib bones. there's no getting around it. no fooling myself. pour me a shot and get on with it...then it's goodbye, goodbye.