{dance for me.}

making memories. drinking for tomorrow's apocalypse. it seems like it will happen. i've looked at all the old pictures, and recalled every nuance. who took them. where we were. look, i say, this was this time and that was the person they were. before it all went sour. i'd like to make it sweeter. now we're blasting barry white and kate bush. pounding all the hard liquor. all the beer. and i'm trying not to think about my bad dreams. misunderstanding life. and blah blah blah. everyone has issues with their mother. that's why everyone is crazy. i love my mother. just wrote her a long letter. we whispered in the bathroom. this woman and i making amends towards every little piece of shit that everyone talks. STOP talking about people, you idiots! stop trying to figure all these simple things out with all these sectioned phrases and separated words. make an egg sandwich. this is stupid. you're all stupid children trying to figure out lives. you're all foolish gossipers trying to spell it out for the masses to read, when in reality, you're as plain as a stained glass window. figure it out. what time is it? five thirty? it's later than that...