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from the files of birdmad
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So here you are, Alex. The end of another day at the office draws near, your comfortable yet boring niche still secure as ever.
Looking over your shoulder to your right, you see the old, battered black coat which has been the most constant thing in your universe, the buttons long since broken off in various stupid and bizarre stunts, the fabric overrun with pilling and fuzz and the seemingly unshakeable smell of old dirt which lingers as a faint undertone in the fabric.
A certain restlessness creeps over you and you feel a certain vague measure of disgust with yourself. A million reasons lurk behind it, some of them purely your own, some of them with the complicity of others.
Another throwaway Saturday night calmed some of the rough edges of your mind, but as it always has, it just widens and deepens that chasm in your soul, but what are you gonna do, Alex?
Let your fleeting attractions remain just that because no matter how much differently you try to handle things, you know how it always turns out.
And that last try... Oh man, whatta joke. The cheap emotional stunts were one thing, but throwing in a level of ruthless cocktease that would give blueballs to whole area codes at once was just adding injury to insult, you're better off washing your hands of the whole debacle, but she got in deep under your skin, didn't she? Burrowing, tunneling, gnawing, like a termite or a hookwormleaving the kind of marks and channels and gooves that stick around and show in your flesh long after you find a cure.
You want to knock back a few beers, but the taste makes you sick anynmore, you want to get high, but you know the next time you do, someone will decide that mayne you should take a whiz_quiz, you want something more meaningful than another cheap, throwaway fuck, but no one you find meaningful will touch you and nobody who will touch you finds you particulalry meaningful.
aint that just a kick in the ass?
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051219
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