Unprotected sex and cocaine.
October 22, 2011 § Leave a comment
Hold her steady. Just for this one. Steady as she goes. As we go. As we are. Hold we steady. Whatever. Shit Cling the fuck on. HOLD STEADY. Dam near killed me. Shit. Hold tight. Fuck’s sake. Shit. Fuck. Bollocks. Think man. There is any escape programmer. It’s us. It’s you. Relax. Breathe. Slow and softly. It’s you. This song is ours. Relax. Calm it down. There is no use your heart going so fast. It’s just the cocaine. The booze. The promise of bad sex. The promise of whatever. It’s us. It’s you. When does the plane go down? ‘cos I’m going to ride it until it hits the ground. Shit this. I’m going to see who’s downstairs. Diction man, it’s yours. It’s mine. It’s ours. If we don’t have it who will? The taxi came early the cocaine came late the bad letters lined up in the wrong way don’t help the alcohol. No commitments tomorrow. I see the way your brain works. It ticks it tocks. It’s ok, he has the measure of you. He see’s what your are up too. I’m glad. He’s a bright boy and I’m glad he hasn’t let himself down. This bar is ours. This bar is ours. HOLD HER STEADY. And me. I used to fight. Hard. I used to be a fucking mental case. I made sure that bastards were scared of me. I made sure I was to be feared at least in the knuckle dragging cunts that botherd my shorter friends. Fuck you. This life is mine. These tears are my own. I remember when I was young. When this bar was ours. When we cared for little more than tequila and drugs. Anything to make us a little less steady on our feet. Anything to make her a little less worried about the way I feel. Hold me back. Please. SHIT. Ssssh. Oh fuck. I bought a guitar when I was 14. It means more to me than anything. Ever. It is mine. Hold tight. It’s still mine. I love it. The frets are fucked. The strings are old. The body’s chipped and bruised. These tears are mine. I love you like I love her. Shit. This is mine. It’s all I have. These words. This attitude. It’s so hard to maintain. Some would say it’s the last grasp of a well meaning addict. A well meaning, but temporarily lost bastard. You used to be you. You used to be you. But now it’s all change. swap up. This bar is ours. Shit. Fuck. Help. That’s what I want. What I need. What I said. Indeed. Mine. I need help. Not rehabilitation. Help. Help. Help. 457. 461. Words. It’s just words. Shakespeare was just words, some say. A 1000 monkey’s and typewriters would come up with Shakespeare eventually. That is true but it misses the fucking point. Shakespeare was a stone cold genius. Shakespeare wasn’t 1000 monkeys. He was one man in 58 odd years. He achieved in that time what a load of monkeys can fuck off and try. Donner meat is a cunt. So are monkeys. Fuckmonkeys. And mondays. Shit HOLD HER STEADY. Indifference is entailment. THIS BAR IS OURS. Fuck. This is a serious. Hard bastard rant. Fuck. Ace. Pull out rory. Pull the fuck up. I need you to grab the stick and pull it up! Harrison Ford. This. Bar. Is. Ours. I don’t want you to see me like this. This. Bar. is. Ours. FUCK. Ok. This has deflationary been one of the crazier ones.