Crawling Back Up in It
by Shaina
The dimming is
good. Most days, I want to be alone in a dark
bar for hours but when I have the day I take its
sun and shit. And walk and sit and breathe and think
about the dark bar and when I go
in I’ll want this and when I stay, I’ll want this, and
I want then I want then I want and want and the bartender
dims the lights and I think it’s OK the way I am. I come
into my skin and I’m hidden and shown and unassociated and
disassociated as are the rest of the people. I think
about American Horror Story the Hotel. I think about Lady Gaga. I want to know why we all need somewhere safe. It’s just a show; this is also just a show. And that’s a reason to not think so much. The guy forgets he goes to the hotel; he forgets
he’s a killer. We wash it down down
down and forget also; we are at home and then we exit
dark and we strap the faces and costumes and shit tight tight and that’s that. Rather than
stay. |in the hotel they were ghosts| I were was am
out and the rules in the sun, oh the rules, but the sun feels possible–wants me to?
Nice one…
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