Tuesday, April 26, 2005
ash tray.
I haven't been sleeping much lately. My nights and early mornings have been spent with an unwelcomed visitor, behind the closed door of my bedroom. We speak in hushed whispers, even though nobody else is around. Our faces, illuminated by the glow from the screen of my laptop, reflect a bastardized fusion of anguish, longing and childlike confusion.
Behind the closed door we listen to each other's heartbeats, subconsciously lighting one cigarette after another. Behind the closed door, we hum to Damien Rice's haunting voice as we try to make sense of what is happening. Behind the closed door, we experience a peculiar form companionship.
When you've waited for something for so long, you come to a point where you don't know what you're waiting for anymore.
I'm not waiting anymore.
Empty that ash tray of yours now, baby, and pack up that warmth you've left under my sheets. Leave your CD there, I like it that way, and close the door behind you when you leave.
posted by Fuzzy @ 23:59
monologue.