the differences between this day and that day aren't at all substantial. with the oncoming winter i am slowly saying goodbye to most everyone. but it's always my secret. i watch them from car windows and empty lots as they pass by oblivious. being sick of constantly questioning what the fuck is with you. makes me question myself, and i don't care to do that. not at all. i'll only keep the ones who sit around my table gladly laughing enjoyably eating when i've made a meal for them. we put on french records. and i resent your distaste for eggs. i'm finished. done. i don't have the tolerance within me. quiet stormy eyed sleepiest of sleepers. i'm in it for the long haul. i've got no one to keep well. no one to fill me full of semen. or spill it on someone else's sheets. i don't like the smell of it. a hard head. be quiet, i'm thinking.