chartreuse moth

the club was alive. teenagers--reminding me how old i was. i was a difficult teenager. a hitchhiker. a bum. in my mid-teens i had a habit, and by my early twenties, i was a full blown starfighter. 

it's easy to get stuck in plagues. blink your eyes and over 9000 years pass. often i wonder if things would have been different if i didn't thumb my way to the crescent city, eat from garbage cans, and play music to a ceaseless lonely moon. perhaps we should all be like that desolate orb, lifeless, drifting...

all the punishment i've done to myself. there are no woes outside my own design. most people blame this or that, but i accept failure. it's all i've ever known. 

i thought the storm would scare away the kids, but they showed up in force. budding sexuality and braces.

drink away your teeth. turn the music up too loud. discover new gods in the middle of the night. with jagged fingernails, tear off the soft flesh. claw it aside. it's past bedtime. the lambs howl at the moon with friendship ponies. genetically i am falling apart. breakfast club dice games and spicy bloody marys. you know i'm a gambling man.