It's weird living at home again.
I liked the dirty phase better.
Call me trashy. I like it.
I lived with my boyfriend. We got out food from the Food Bank. We fought a lot. And worked dead end jobs. He fucked other girls in our bed. And I slept with random punk dykes while piss drunk on Valentine's Day. Working bar nights at a fast food restaurant with a neon pink mohawk, and walking home in the snow at four o'clock a.m in a leopard print miniskirt. Trick or treating on Halloween with the deadbeats from 90 Elizabeth, my rainbow scarf stained with whiskey poured down my throat by a sexy slut. Sitting on the riverbank by the ruins of the old mill and singing 'Fuck You I'm Drunk!' at the top of our lungs, smoking out of the rainbow pipe barefoot on a swingset, sand in my pants. Lying flat out on a bench in the square, barefoot, runs in the nylons, short skirted, sky spinning, incoherent, babbling, staggering. These are the images I'll remember for the rest of my life, and remember being alive.
There are some fairly prominent scars on my arms from mixed drinks, blood and whiskey, blood and Colt 45, and a heart shaped scar on my ankle. My boyfriend has a large circular brand on the inside of one wrist from a searing hot beer bottle, a scar butterfly on his upper arm.
=/. I've pulled myself out of this, and I miss it. Now I'm dirty without a crowd, free without adventure.
Damn deadbeats.
I liked the dirty phase better.
Call me trashy. I like it.
I lived with my boyfriend. We got out food from the Food Bank. We fought a lot. And worked dead end jobs. He fucked other girls in our bed. And I slept with random punk dykes while piss drunk on Valentine's Day. Working bar nights at a fast food restaurant with a neon pink mohawk, and walking home in the snow at four o'clock a.m in a leopard print miniskirt. Trick or treating on Halloween with the deadbeats from 90 Elizabeth, my rainbow scarf stained with whiskey poured down my throat by a sexy slut. Sitting on the riverbank by the ruins of the old mill and singing 'Fuck You I'm Drunk!' at the top of our lungs, smoking out of the rainbow pipe barefoot on a swingset, sand in my pants. Lying flat out on a bench in the square, barefoot, runs in the nylons, short skirted, sky spinning, incoherent, babbling, staggering. These are the images I'll remember for the rest of my life, and remember being alive.
There are some fairly prominent scars on my arms from mixed drinks, blood and whiskey, blood and Colt 45, and a heart shaped scar on my ankle. My boyfriend has a large circular brand on the inside of one wrist from a searing hot beer bottle, a scar butterfly on his upper arm.
=/. I've pulled myself out of this, and I miss it. Now I'm dirty without a crowd, free without adventure.
Damn deadbeats.
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