Bark with no bite.

March 11, 2012 § Leave a comment

“And when I’m here I’m home.” – Wessex Boy – Frank Turner. 

The cigarette smoke was thick, and lonesome and twisting away into the light up and away into the night sky. It was leaving but at least it was mine. I remember girls. I remember names and faces. I remember barely holding on in my brain. As hard as I could. Praying for a shot of redemption. This is it. This is me. “Help” screams that voice that pipes up on a hangover. I don’t need help. Not really. I’m fine, thank you. I think I’ve pulled it together enough to just make sure. My leg won’t stop going. Don Delillo kept me up. Don Delillo, Whiskey, me and a blinking midnight clock. Blood. There was blood, I remember that. On the walls. I’ve been chasing rivers. I remember that too. Blood and rivers. And talk. Too much talk from people who didn’t mean it. Bark with no bite. Words with no fight. If I was king such an act wouldn’t go unpunished, I would have them lined up and I would have them shot. The words are yours, the least you can do is mean them. Davey Jones can’t save us from drowning. 


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