You see, there is an obvious weight and rather than lift you add weight with years.

It stays tired and attached until the man or woman is an aside rather than a human being. The leech may fill but will miss the good times with the host.

I met a whore in Manchester and she had a fine mind. Wholly untapped, but pointed in the direction of good things. I bought her crisps and held her hand. God knows if I wanted to fuck her. I don’t. She had a vein on one ankle that glared at me.

Bang, I hit my head off the bench and she howled. Two forgotten brutes under lights and ripping wind.

A job will cure us, I let her know. Her father had fucked her, she let me know.

Ugly things under the same skies as the quaint and the provincial.

Sometimes I dig my nails into my head and tear as hard as I can and for as long as I can along the scalp.

I remember raw things and dusty landfills. The end and the fucking. Seldom, the love or the old cartoons