With a lost, sad look through the windows of a filthy bus I am getting back to my cave. A place where I will close my eyes and I will stop thinking about this solitude.
Taste of whisky still in my mouth while I head straight, like an automat. I know the way, the same as every other night, the same silence, the same lines, the same thoughts...the same.
My boots against the footpath in the night. Chandler Way is sleeping and a curious fox is staring at me. The ones, the good ones are flowing slowly away and she never says hello.
She never introduces herself. She never appears.
She doesn't exist.
No comments:
Post a Comment