11 April 2002 - 10:37 p.m.
Happiness is weather warm enough for me to sally forth into the night wearing nothing more than a short black dress, thin black flats, and a long-sleeved velveteen shirt. Happiness is sitting at a mostly empty bar, listening to the BYM and a friend chat about goth boots, freaky hair and mental disorders while the bartender slices a bin full of lemons right across from me.
(and thus for her - but not to her - she already knows about seeing)
i don't want to want to blame anyone for the scars on my heels
i harbor so many stones within the pools of my lungs,
who do you cherish and what would you have them drink?
that some of these stories cannot be etched away
but see! there are cloths. there are colors. there are cities.
One year ago: "...my only point of reference is a community theater production in which Pilate was portrayed by a tall, cool alto in a lavender bustier..."
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