“I love you both equally.”
Ok, so that was a terrible idea, and I swear the next person that texts me saying that Dana is crazy and wants to kill the other girl, my head is going to explode. Thank you, I know, and I’m sorry. Live and learn right? That’s what they keep saying, but I don’t buy it. I’m broke. No joke. Hope? Nope. Dope just to cope, looking for answers at the wrong end of the rope, and that you can quote, it’s broken laying in the snow half open, spilling all over the ground like a cold wind. So just hold spin and lay down with some old sin, hot and molten but not on your cold skin. Golden, set it down out in the open and hope no one trips over your ground up soul. Are you the pope then? Fuck it, I’ll play the broke bread like a slow death, shaking underneath the table like a coke head. Epic in the way she’s soft spoken, it comes in waves that toss my omen to the day to the hour, to the minute to the year, and every time she leaves I have to break another mirror. To fear bad luck is a dead man’s game, when you dress like some shriveled up abandoned rape. The sad win games with abstract names then wonder why they can’t return a simple back handed save. I crave my Miss behave on a misty day. She cries slits of rain in between little crisp fits of pain. She’s insane and I’m numb to her games, I’ve suffered enough to be one of her slaves. For one hundred days, until my hunch gets paid for thinking aloud about the chumps with faith.
