seven more minutes please

i got a new bed on tuesday. it took me exactly two days to get it stained with skanky fuck boy germs.

my room smells like paint. and like decay. 20 kinds of funky.

man, i was off my head last night. running around liverpool and pitt streets. flashes of colour and vince colosimo is all i remember. i don�t even know how i got home. or why he came with me. the last thing i remember was pushing the button in the elevator to go to platform 6 of town hall station.

the thoughts in my head are like the messages i send to people. full, fast and rapidly changing subject.

today, i�m a six foot tall, walking pile of seedy. with a post purchase mix coca cola in my hand i call my best friend and he comforts me like no one else in the world can. then i call my best friend from uni and let him unintentionally brighten my day by telling me tales of a town i sometimes miss so much.

but the worst part is that i�m pretty sure my mum thinks i�m a whore.

whatever man.

i vow to myself that the next person i have sex with, i am going to be super interested in. and not just doing it for the sake of sex. i have been saying that since the beginning of may last year. and so far i have broken that promise to myself at least five times.

i don�t want to have to remember the things i do late at night

19/03/2004 00:05

light | love