quasi_sean

how difficult to write

as she watches me i'm hunched over, scribbling odes to her beauty.

my diary-love has no use for me as a sober wannabe artist.

i think in moments. the jukebox spits Sinatra from one end of the alcohol cocoon to the other. pisses off the pool players and faux-gangsters who are defined only by the music around them and suddenly they find themselves slow-dancing with one another and nibbling on each other's jewelry.

there are photos being taken on the back. of the ceiling. that is leaking.

i'll end up on a balcony tonight, a madman pissing in an empty McDonald's cup wondering why he just cannot stop being sick and enjoy.

there are lovers in the parking lot. he leans into her over the hood of his car. they kiss for hrs. i watch them until the police arrive and he takes her hand and helps her away.

a stray kitty wanders languidly to the door looking for attention that only a bar can offer but he walks like i do now after nine drinks and i want to follow him to whatever dumpster he crawled out of.

six seconds before the lights come on.

he's taking her home. i'm carrying secrets only the grave will know.