Well, I could say that it was all worth it, this clumsy strip mining brought to bare. But haven’t I lied enough to you, already? I could serenade you once more with pretty, purply words. I could promise to take you away from yourself. Or to take back all your time I wasted.
What I can really do, though, what’s within my means, is to take this soiled ashtray and throw it all away – the lipsticked butts, the charred and tarred – even the cracked dish, too. Better a clean break, I say, than a dirty bruise.
So goodbye to you, I guess. I wish I was prepared to remember the right bits about you. I wish that I had treated you less like a figment of my feverish animal self.
I wish you’d been the answer in the questing spectrum between what I want and what I need. Instead I see the only answer, by a wide mile, is ‘so what?’
spiral scratch
poor joe .. . { dizzy gillespie, jazz ’round midnight }
i only said .. . { my bloody valentine, loveless }
sha-la-la-la-lee .. . { small faces, from the beginning }
