Mr. Bitterness.

Home early. The wrong pills go down oblong.

I can't keep diffusing. My fingers are too burnt. No more catching the wick and snubbing the spark. I could burn off my guitar calluses but how many sacrifices until it's gone? How many until she sees?

I could strum with bleeding fingers, but the strings don't carry blood along with notes.

maybe too little,

Jared


2003-05-29 at 1:00 a.m.