six pack and angst

Fuck it y'know cos it's hot enough to be alcoholic. Cos I've got enough excuses to call you with drunken propositions before the sunset. because out here I'm basting in the middle of everywhere and kilometres from anyone else.

because I've depleted all my booty calls and the sweat is dripping like tears and starfish don't belong in the desert thats why I don't lay down these days.

Between complaints that I am too earnest I spin lies out of dust and rocks. write my name into the ceiling each night so I remember who I wake up with at dawn.

and all of the excuses in the world are peppered with insecurity and truth.
all the things I hate are the what I would most like to be.

and all this angst and bullshit might disappear in my saturn returns and maybe if they don't that will mean that I am immortal.