fgsfds

My door's got no handle outside. It opens and closes on its own, I don't know where the draft is coming from. Nonsense words begin to appear on the laptop screen, scrolling up, as if invisible fingers are pressing the keys. Maybe it's my head. Phone line frayed away to almost nothing. Leaflets for attractions mostly closed or fallen down anyway. Dripping tap in the second-floor bathroom, with a corroded smear I can't get rid of on the porcelain. Scratch marks on the door, someone's desperation or constipated boredom. Bolt ripped off, leaving a ghost outline of itself in the paint as evidence. My memory's fucked. The stupid crap people do shouldn't be remembered anyway. Evening seems to come in chunks. I don't notice it getting darker until it actually is. Steven's naked now apart from my blood, disco dancing to a red hot cut only he can hear. Watch where you're going, you fucking- there's a shadow by the pool. It exhales cigarette smoke and points. I am drunk and you are ugly but in the morning I will be sober. Six of them, rabbits in my torchlight. One of them's got something in his hand. There's a sound like spare ribs cracked by a spanner. And the lights go out. It's getting colder now. Everything's cruel. I don't have anybody. I have the cold night. I'm tired. Choice has gone the same way as opportunity. My brain feels like it's on a stick in the sun. I dream a funeral. Take your fucking puppets with you, Sammy.

That red plastic really does stink.

still fucking fail