And so I’m on my way back from a café event.
I hoped to make new friends but as expected, I made none.
I drove with the window down.
My legs are freezing though so I drive slow.
Will a cigarette warm me up?
No, nevermind. I’ll just get dizzy.
Van Gogh loved the night better than the day.
And so do I.
Though there’s no fog I can’t see anything in front of me.
My insides are turning. They want out.
No, there’s no one inside me.
How can there be when no one has loved me for over a year?
I slam on the brakes. It wasn’t a shock.
How can it be when I was crawling, barely moving anyway?
Nasty fly, I’m not food. Stop rubbing your hands together.
I just ran out of things to say.