sometimes i know you'd be mad with me for pretending youre still around here, bringing you up at cocktail parties and the like; acting as though you had some impact on society in general. being afraid that you'll always live around me like a terrible memory of failure and crisis. like that rusty skin you wear as armor. like hampton beach in the summer when everyone has a honda and a hot boyfriend to kiss, you can never get rid of the sand and the line to the arcade is too long. i am an alcoholic drug addicted slut with a preference for men with shaved heads and fast cars.