last night the full moon was a gigantic flashlight pointed down on me as i took the long way home from fitz's place. i felt like i used to after i stole something or in the seconds after i placed three or four tabs of acid on my tongue--a mix of exhileration, self-loathing and couldn't-care-less-ness.

i'm so sick of this scene.

fuck the world. i mean that for real, man.

no one was out. the street felt fake like a stage. it was too quiet--the facade of the church was a flat prop. a single light from a bodega doorway spilled across the sidewalk like yellow paint.

i looked inside and the store was empty. there was no one behind the register.

the only thing moving was the steam blowing off the top of the hospital. it danced around crazily, like it was trying to tell me something--not with words but with the static blast of its jubilation...with the freedom of its formlessness...

it was watching me. looking out...

it was telling me that i had no choice but to love the way i look...the way i dress like a boy and walk with a limp,

the way i'm always leaving early, because i've got to go to work.

the way i don't want to be sorry but i always am.

the way i love so hard, so silently...

the way i've given you my all and gotten back nothing in return.

always amazing

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