about to get lost in the month.
starting a band.
with another killer gal from Kentucky.
and a guy you know from England.
I am drunk, but cannot sleep.
What's up?
July is up.
December is next.
I lied before.
When I said I would stop writing on this blog.
I can't not write.
Doesn't feel right.
We improvised.
on a roof.
topped in Brooklyn.
cold in bullshit and regret.
All of us pretending.
Me singing, she singing.
he playing the outer space guitar.
until the bridge breaks.
Then we died.
and came back again.
to the sound of something.
fiendish of what we hold dear.
we will sing only.
about the past.
and cold faces.
plus forgotten places.
we will be called.
Lady Tongue Leaving.
and I will learn the harmonica.
be the fool for inspiration.
the other side.
will be torn apart.
by apathy.
and nightly violence.
our kisses.
and our kills.
will be immortalized.
in songs never heard.
and one day.
we will be in a weird documentary.
but for the fine gone now.
we perish perfect.