The blankest of stares, or maybe an amiable smile. But when they turn and leave, you bash your head into (hopefully through) the nearest surface, flat or otherwise, because it's the only reaction that will ever make sense. You take your head and crush the fuck against something over and over and over and over and over.
When the dust settles, you are no better. Just the same. You take a knife and carve another hideous, jagged slash into the plaster, marking the fifth-sixth-seventh? time this has happened. And then you die a little. And then you go out and hang with your lifeblood.
No comments:
Post a Comment