snow

Its the beginning of January and everything already looks old. Last year I barely made it out of this town.
I finally left on a train; I left the snow on a train to Eugene. Somewhere between leaving and San Francisco,
the show sold out. My heart ached more in front of 1200 people. January 7th.

This morning I opened my eyes four times before getting up. If I roll out of bed around noon, there is less chance of the day going bad. Things dont go bad, like a rotten pear or an avocado. After the screaming and the word asshole has been issued, the day turns into the orange that is splattered all over my wall. If that doesnt make sense maybe you should stop reading.

Somewhere inside there is a small amount of anger. It represents itself as heartburn, go get the milk. If I am not getting stronger, I am getting weaker. Floating in the mud with the worms and the flies. It actually doesnt help to dog paddle. I have to take a breath. One breath and hold it for as long as I can.

I want to write letters to men in prison. What an honor, sir, that you chose me. You chose my letters to shit and piss on. Why dont you try to fuck my words too?