I'm here, his neck and stuck full of strange nervous knots.
shoulder moves little and are prey to painkillers.
and think that tomorrow night I wanted to dance.
hard as I imagined an old woman in fishnet stockings and gown last, leaning against the wall.
sad that image.
shitty.
even smelly.
are combed like Dave Grohl plus a touch of Frank Zappa.
someday I may come back to me woman.
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