it’s only wednesday.
my feet are comfortably sore, losing it’s waved trajectory and melting into one line. all day the mudded rain has splashed up my pants, soaking into my skin. only now do i realize i must itch off the crust grabbing out my hair. the earth smells bad and i smell worse, but i’m too tired to even stand in water. grabbing a cigarette i’ll head to the porch, where people pass and talk and pass and think and pass and smell bad. butane ignites my death and i’m just sitting. the world is quiet tonight, i’m only listening to the smoke let go of my lips. for some reason this is the most peaceful part of my day, the part where i kill myself. but it’s okay, sometimes serenity is found in the most darkest of places that nobody wants to go. maybe that’s why nobody is very peaceful, they’re searching in the most obvious of places. walking back inside, i fall onto my bed. it’s not that comfortable, but it beats standing on these crippled flat feet. i should probably brush my yellow teeth and comb my knotted hair, but i don’t feel like it. i don’t feel like doing much of anything requiring thought or movement, so i don’t. i just lay here, tired.
