From Where I’m From and No Matter How Far Away You Can Get
Here we spend it, fighting, fucking, screaming down the throats of one another, ready to throw a rock soaking whiskey wet or blow a kiss out a window in a minutes notice. We cram elbows deep and staring down our servers, clanging glass into itself in toast of all things gone or irrelevant, whatever it takes to raise another something to the things we wish we could celebrate more often, until seat belts are as forgotten as cigarettes can’t seem to be as all through the years we keep telling ourselves, soon it’ll all be over and I’ll find some semblance of normalcy. Of course, normalcy never truly gets a chance to show up because every time it manages to get us to sit down on the sofa or read through the newspaper on a Sunday afternoon we find ourselves desperate to rocket back out its doors until we’re so far away that nothing, not even Monday morning, can bring us back in.
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