erasing
Bleak, out to the horizon. I can feel the cold in my throat. The night is forever: perfect black. I’m erasing myself into it. Hitting a beer. Feeling thin, and rough around the edges. Washing down vitamins with Corona. Irony. Dwelling on that line from the Royksopp song, “I don’t know what more to ask for. I was given just one wish.” I’m not even tired anymore. Bleak days. Bleak nights. Bleak hours, baby.