The hands on the clock were crawling by like they were wounded and I found myself staring blankly at the television set again. It was an orgy of blurry images and sounds, like I had my ear up to the wall listening to my neighbors fuck– everything was diluted with static. The hot drip. I always thought the coyote would learn someday and finally catch that sneaky fucking road runner but here I was doing the same thing.
I shut my eyes and melted, I was the wicked ghost of the West. I was a scolding hot popsicle with cold sweat dripping down my stick and onto her hand’s making her sticky, but she didn’t mind because she was a coyote like me. Rubbing, burning up. The surface was above, I could see the sun’s silhouette but I was sinking and making no attempt to swim, my muscles were limp, I was tired. Itching, scratching. I asked a shark for the time and he said it was 4:44 in the morning, so I turned myself around and went with the current and swam deeper, down… until the surface was just some fairy-tale that society fabricated, like religion.
I was now a dope-shooting atheist. Wrists tied behind my back. One of my life-time fuck partners was making me coffee again even though she knows I never drink it, she does it to stay sane. My mouth is dry enough to start a fire and my girl played connect the dots last night with a black marker on my track marks. I haven’t spoken a word in four days. You should feel what it’s like having the urge to claw your clothes off every second of the day.
That god damn road-runner…