Shreds

Yeah, I met this guy and he said he'd "really got to know people " and the secrets of the world had been laid in his lap.
He stood in the bus shelter, his left foot kicked up against the rail, saying all kinds of crazy-shit.
Cigarette tracing a ladder to the stars, it never went out.
He'd blow smoke rings into the air then reach up to grab them and put them back into his pocket.
I couldn't believe someone who turned and started running.
"You wanna come? "
he kept jogging down the road when I ignored him, stopping every three paces or so to shout back at me, like a child desperate to have me convinced.
So I went.
As I had suspected, he wasn't there.
He was just all the pleasant cliches of a late night that never seemed to be around in a place like this.




It's happening so fast.
It was set in stone alright.
All the ideas I have of how it should be are in a faded baize tones.
Peeling, yellowing wallpaper.
Standing in boxer-shorts, watching the sun rise with an asprin and a glass of water.
It's convenient that I know beforehand that the best part may be the idea.
The thought that in three years it would all start.

Then she said it.










Oh yes, I am so original.
Nobody ever thought of that before.
When you look at someone, they can't be thinking anything close to what I'm thinking about them; it's a logic too horrible to face.
Are they cracking up inside and secretly planning your demise?
And will you ever become the person that you look at and can't help but despise?
How do you even get to that point?
Isn't there a time where you just pack up and say 'So long, and thanks for all the fish!" ?
Not everyone . . .

Think bigger, and do try not to face the fact that you will actually have to work at some point.



R.E.D Campbell