there was an age of innocence. there was, i remember. those times where the worst string of bad luck couldn't get me down in the end. sitting in the back of a stale, ripped up, yellow bus. none of this would have bothered me then. chubby little girl, full spanned ego, wanting to kiss all the little boys, blonde and shining hair...

is it all fake now? is it all an attitude? this can't be it. this can't be the end. poundning on the walls, there is no more echo. the air is flat and clouded, and i can't tell if i'm breathing or standing or lying or thinking, i can't see the next person, i can't hear the buzzing of flies or trains and i can't feel the hunger. i'm locked up and maybe it will be forever. my friends are all just washed up images of emotion and memory and history and family and action and music and......... my hands are molded into swingsets. toss my neck and i click into space. is it terrible and cliche to say that i am holding his arm? i am. he holds me and allows me to lead. he doesn't mind. who is he? i want the drink. he's got all the answers. we used to drink and laugh and then he would spend my money and i would laugh more and we would smoke until our lips and lungs collapsed with beats of belle and sebastian on my player. go out and drive. we've got no answers. we've got no money, and the thought of that job........ go to an empty venue and listen to a skeleton band. meet up with exes, make love, and cry. invite friends and play games and smell the stench of the city... whiff the white dried up line of semen on the table. get off as much and as quickly as possible. over and over and over, and i can feel it all at my back- a warm shower of piss on my head. he says he is published in all the right places. he says these girls start to love and he disappears in the dust like a cowboy hero. i don't believe his five studded lies. i like to listen, though. come home. we can submerse our pain and guilt and shame and become fashion snobs and sex symbols and go out on the town and be prettier than them all. i watch your future make it's way to the landing strip of filthy mahogany [this is my blood]. take me for what i'm worth. you said i could live with you when you are famous. when we are famous. when i am famous.