You should always run with a loaded gun in your mouth
I had a dream about a state fair.
I found him immediately inside, standing behind her as she ordered pills from a medicine counter. She crushed one right in front of the pharmacist and snorted it and stood in front of him, doped up and gyrating and he loved it. He was turned on by her bloodshot eyes and when he told her this out loud,she looked right at me and said how she couldn’t wait to break me up in pieces
and how easy she knew it’d be.
I woke up to my baby on my chest breathing heavy.
The summer before last all I wanted was a little bit of unhealthy bad. My money burned the flesh of my legs, I hardened myself down with dim lit dive bars, shifting my eyes to the beacons- the girls who’s names were immortalized in the scene. They knew me too.
There is something romantic about being un.save.able. Connor Oberst knows it and every 16 year old girl rebels with it in mind. Some keep doing it over and over until they are 24 in the bar with Jameson on the rocks pretending to be Sylvia or Marilyn or Francesca, the ones that die into legend.
On the other hand, surviving and having a resilient soul have the same effect. I saw death and I had some sex and I drank enough and got some poetry out of it and woke up, just like this morning.
There’s something romantic about not needing to be saved. Being touchable and markable like the earth, raw like bare feet on gravel- and surviving it over and over again.
A ghost, a demon, an insecurity, a dream, all dissipating into fog.