postmodern cheese
By Xenia
and he wrote it with his own blood. [nothing disappears] as we stood around giggling like little monsters, we thought it was funny, smudging little particles of self on the wall please do. clearly it was time for medicine and we all wanted our medicine he stayed there scribbling the last part of his disappearing concience and we laughed from afar shoving our cigarettes in his face [we know you don't smoke.] but we kept it when he left for good [his medicine must have been too good for us] partially paralyzed and strapped to our beds we stared at the wall as the writing faded into yet another expression of teenage angst in pale orange a lame excuse to be alivefeeling a bit frantic. Written February 17th, 2002 © on Feb 16 2002 03:38 PM PST 0 • 10
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"and he wrote it with his own blood...."