Slainte!

Foo Fighters - Best Of You (VIDEO)

Today I had a friend... god bless him... tell me that I needed to see rightly.  About her... what else.

Did he know.

Later that day a drive by.  It could have been her.  It could have not.  Her friend in the passenger got a good look, while she, the driver drove on.  Coward.  If it it was her.  Coward if it wasn't.

Does she think I don't know.  Though she was nothing but the perfect lover to me... I am little more than fecal matter on the finger after she is done with the wipe.  She believes disgusting.  She must hide her shame... at having a piece of herself upon herself.  However disgusting.  Just a wipe.  It will be gone.  But it won't.

Ferocious wiping in front of the sink removes nothing.

Nights sleepless spent wiping a hand, a finger that has long proven blameless.  Rubbed raw... rubbed red.  Salud.  I only stand in the truth.  What do you stand in?  Do you sink there?  Do you stink there?  Enjoy what you feel are all of your piecemeal victories.  As Philip K. Dick said: "Reality comes back to haunt."  Enjoy the victory.  The hollow taste of Grey Goose as it elevates to a malformed reality that can be so easily hidden.

As long as you don't ride the streets of all the boys you sent away remain.  Boys cower before the man... the one.  Though your graduation gown lies in rags at your feet, carry on.  Embellish yourself in half-truths, adorn the faulted glory!  That way you can forget the clutching fecal matter that still hangs from your finger.

God Bless.

Salud.

Or as the fiery Scot, who never had to pretend, might say... Slainte!