you would all laugh at me when I tell you about my evening. It was like a film you wouldn't pay to see. I was crying in the rain to songs with strings about Zula walking home muttering, humming words to this song in the storm, I'm the crazy Spring Garden St. Bridge songwriting lady. And I'm Terrified of love, but it's all I have to give. My whole life I've been taught if I give it I'll get it back in return, but its just been taken and I've taken it back oh way back back back when I thought it was a good idea. And I don't believe in god or any of those sort of things, yet i keep git get getting pulled back into trusting in something outside myself, that would fulfill some sort of made up need that burns and stings and crushes every fucking living thing. You know what a crush is, it does just that, how could someone not see you when you like them so much. And I've never been a quitter its not my sort of thing. I can't quit smoking drinking eating sugar, or hoping for anything. We see it in movies and TV and we all relate. But I know I'm not alone and maybe that's what worse that there are so many many of us that are cursed. This is the part where I self deprecate, and tell you how I wish I could tell you in so many words I'm not clever enough to spew, I'm no mark, I'm not Mark or David, or Joanna. Nope! none of those clever few, they just make me think of these things and I'll jot them down for you. Cause I have nothing else to give to someone who would dare listen to this..this is the best I'll do.

I'll never get into dirt with you ill never relay the dirty with you dirty things i do. i'll get down on my hands and knees and tirelessly clean everything thats too be seen and i won't let on to where that smell is coming from its coming from the drain where all the black stuff goes where all the grime i get off burrows it burrows and goes down to a place where nobody knows and nobody goes like the stories that i that i told they should go where the dirt train tunnel drain goes i get on my hands and knees and scrub everything thats to be seen but i keep dirty little secrets in the drain there's black mold there's hair, theres slime everywhere there's black mold, hair and slime everywhere and i keep it down there. and the hair that was mine theres a bit of time thats gotten to it and it don't look like mine but its mine i ll scrub surfaces clean and you wont see what i;ve hidden underneath. my closet would explode, insects will erode the wood that holds this box into place. and ill light candles , bake, to cover up the smell in my drain. my black hearted moldy slithery drain brain. until it gets clogged. then emergency rubber plungers resuscitate the air back into the hole , in the place were I get clean.