onemorepanic

We upset them just by standing there.
Or possibly by replying with exposed teeth.
Or maybe we sat back and said fuck you.

Fuck you to death. Like we used to.
The only thing we could agree on.
Was the fuck. The fucking in progress. The fuck that just played itself out across the bed sheets.

Every cigarette smoked reminds me of someone.
Every drink consumed isolates me as that one indiscriminate force...

That, does, walks, speaks..
and dies soon.

Someone ran away with those days. Steadfast, palatable in cross-haired belief that someone somewhere was shimmering and unscabbed me for it's perchancing. Arriving currently at no one.

We spiked up our hair and took to the outside. Witnessed digressions and figured we were all in our own right. Arrive at tomorrow by chance.