There was no alarm this morning. I opened my eyes and never shut them again.
The wooden seat was still warm when I descended the stairs, the mug of coffee and pantry light flooding onto the cold floorboards because he never wakes up quite early enough for that. I’ll say that the morning was cold but I didn’t mind so much, my feet perhaps, so I pulled on some socks and sat on them on the sofa. It's almost 5.
It’s so hard to eat now, to buy the food and to bring it to my lips, and when I do I put it down again for no reason really at all. If not to keep my strength up, if only I could rest my head on the bench at work and see nothing then how wonderful if I could just sleep forever. And all the people in the park wouldn’t see me lying on the bench in the snow because they never take the time to look when they're walking their precious little dogs [and children], and I could sleep then, and talk to them sometimes, but only if I want to. I’m not Mr Badger. No fucking way. But neither is my door hidden beneath tankards of white snow and frozen branches. I feel so sick and I’m not that sure why.
I’m not sorry I didn’t write.
They keep telling you as they walk past, “We didn’t start the fire,” but they did. You know they did, and you also know that the song and all the other songs would rhyme and sound so much better if it had said we didn’t light it and we didn’t try to fight it either, and were not that sorry once it’s out. It wasn’t rhyming in the beginning and nothing made enough sense to be quite ridiculous, not really.
That’s the problem with your songs. We’re not the cops, the fucking radical or the murderer, we’re sure as hell not the judge nor hurricane himself. We’re stupid little Patty Valentine, but for all that and some shit with the riots in 67’ and the Vietnam war [again] no one has a damn clue.
Why not.
(and just so you know, dear reader. it wasn't a question. i'm not asking you anything.)
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