setting: lips on cigarette nearing a kiss, door ajar, early fall midnight.
it smells like smoke.
it smells like a frustrated attempt at pretending you don’t exist.
writing as a vice. writing until the next shot of liquor. writing until the next shot at love.
it’s funny to think about evasion. it’s funny to think of dodging bullets.
such a harmless bullet. such a rookie’s marksmanship…
time to join an army perhaps.
a thousand soldiers on the same mission. or lack thereof.
-
a thousand strangers couldn’t take away your scent.
...out of ammo. again.
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