I can’t remember totally what I wrote last night but I can remember it was good and then word press was angry with my ass and decided it wouldn’t post anything. This is what I can muster up from the depths of a part of my brain that I can’t even pronounce. Maybe this is fates way of saying what I will do shouldn’t be done but who needs fate anyways?

The blood smelt of hospital meat and hospice feet. There’s something about the undiscovered and the intrigue. Those drunks and pinstriped overalls make me cry at night. I want to give up but I only want to take one step backwards, is that even possible? Its been knocking me all the wrong ways.

Ode to the people beside me:
-I want to smack you up main street and back with your inappropriate words, but you will go on to do great things.
-You should remember me more often even when I remember you, you almost got me that morsel of food.
-You didn’t intimidate me today, maybe it was because we were lovers hypothetically speaking.
-I thought you looked different today, I stared at you at class when you were unawares and I wondered if I felt differently about you. Damn stirrings.
-I can’t believe you ever did anything with her, you don’t seem alike and you seem like its old news when really its not.
-Stop talking like that please, I like it when you refer to yourself as I and Me and Pee.
-I’m scared that being a failure will make you act like I’m a failure.
-Its like you have a totally different mind than I do and yet you know me, you really do.

He lay on his makeshift bed and envisioned naked women, tried to rather. Fantasies don’t always come true. She threw a pillow at him and he was jerked back into the real world, where the real people can see naked girls in their minds. Maybe this wasn’t his night, maybe he wouldn’t get any sleep, maybe he’d end up in a cold sweat not knowing what to do. He stumbles to the bathroom and turns the tap to ‘frigid’. He sprays water on his face and looks at his brown eyes in the mirror. Cold showers help you burn calories and a cold shower is a right of passage. He pulls of his zoo shirt and slips off his flannel pants and starry boxers. He looks back in the mirror and tries to envision a naked woman beside his flaccid penis. He turns the shower to C and forces himself not to shiver and weeps like a baby. Maybe this was the right of passage he’d been searching for, maybe this was how he’d get through the day. He choked back the tears until he stopped producing them and turned the shower off and stepping back onto the cold tile floor of the bland bathroom. He pulls up the starry boxers and flannel pants over his shrunken penis. He pulls on his zoo shirt and slips back into bed. He likes to think that in the morning the sheets will be dry and there won’t be anything on his skin. He stares at the ceiling.