music: emily, joanna newsom
mood: my heart can't break for this
tonight is the last, the very last wardroom night of the year. butterflies and birds collide at hot ungodly hours. how strange to campus-walk knowing the business that belongs to us all; the front-step secrets you are telling, the telephone numbers you dial, names you secretwhisper into this knee-deep muddy darkness. kaleidescoping conversations, the shifting movement of mutable colour, quiet lines in the webs we weave.
there is too much history, here.
i walk home alone with midnight thoughts and cold hands in coat pockets. home has a car in the driveway (this means visitors) and past the locked door and into the backyard to watch the growing starscape. the meteorite's just what causes the light and the meteor's what you see. boy voices from a nearby balcony, skip two fences away. the rubbish bins and i, hiding in the shadows, listen. "i'm a whiteboy just chillin, you're a whiteboy, just chillin, why's there so much selfishness in this house?" wait until they all go away and the pinpoint glow of your cigarette burns down to its fingertips. slam the backdoor so hard it opens, spilling a sliver of light on concrete ground.
there is too much history, here.
i walk home alone with midnight thoughts and cold hands in coat pockets. home has a car in the driveway (this means visitors) and past the locked door and into the backyard to watch the growing starscape. the meteorite's just what causes the light and the meteor's what you see. boy voices from a nearby balcony, skip two fences away. the rubbish bins and i, hiding in the shadows, listen. "i'm a whiteboy just chillin, you're a whiteboy, just chillin, why's there so much selfishness in this house?" wait until they all go away and the pinpoint glow of your cigarette burns down to its fingertips. slam the backdoor so hard it opens, spilling a sliver of light on concrete ground.
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