Better sick

Face down in the gutter and our third fucking pitcher of guinness (each) is coming up foam and fury while the meat packing district does their best transgressive dance as the suits move in and the queens descend on wallets, cocks and the father's who abandoned their dreams in youth.

I'm not sure where rob is. last i saw he was putting the slurs on some toothless woman.

It's christmas. new year's. i don't know already but he has the fucking keys and we're not going anywhere until he gets his shit together or gets the last of his bravado kicked out his hulking dick.

I don't care. i hate him. i hate the world. i hate me in it. i close my eyes and reach a dream when i feel a whisper on my neck.

"Oh, honey. it looks like you actually need this a lot more than little old me."

I crack open an inch. there's a finger in my face. a long white line along a manicured hand come down from heaven to release me of the village fucking idiot and take my motion to the streets.

I breathe in and my brain sets fire.

But by the time i'm to my feet my angel's gone to the rest of her evening and rob's tongue is curling the gums of some filthy homeless lips.

King and Queen of Winter.mp3