Vanishing act.
Leave it be.
Monday, 10 October 2011
Innocent poetry.
He'll contact me in the early morning, when he's too sober to not be miserable. We talk about him, his life and issues and dreams.
She, when drunk and barely coherent. We talk about metaphysics, the self, and pointless nihilism.
If she scratches paint off my sky, he tapes it over.
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