I don't care if I get wet, and I don't care if we don't do this today. I don't know if we're friends anymore, and I don't know when I'm going to break apart, but I do know I'm never going to touch you. I can feel a heart attack coming on for this mistake that's caused me to....fuck.

I'm staying in bed, and watching the walls. Everyday, I'm awake and I'm alive, but I stopped trying to live. A fight was better than never seeing you anymore. I don't care if I am dead and I don't know about you, but this isn't ever going to start. Nothing's going to start up my hearts sigh.

Fuck it.

Away from my airplane so I can feel the skin on my tips, and so I can feel like something I pretend is satisfaction. I hope I won't remember you one day.

A woman keeps harassing me about her god. Someone took my faith from the rest of us. I painted my wood brown and blended in, so I can remember what I forgot. I feel like my hair's too bright and my hands are shaking too loud; I can't even finish writing this book that I named after you. 

In the morning light, I may feel better for the five seconds if I concentrate real....real hard, because no morning wood is going to be hard enough to help me expect that I can be helped.