spend a night drinking vodka and water

while you read vonnegut and listen to wagner

and cry like you were eight years old

and you just moved to a new city and

haven't made any friends yet

think about making your sister cry

when she was fourteen

visiting your grandma in the hospital

you said 'heh, you know the way the light is

shining it makes your one boob look way bigger than the other'

and you really thought it was just the light

but she burst out crying 'cause there was a cup-size difference

well that was long time ago and

tonight wherever she is she is not crying

tonight the walk up the stairs is a long

lonely fight with gravity

you think you should get in shape again

make more friends

wonder if you'd feel happier if you just had someone to sit with

someone you'd know would always be there

you've fallen overboard

but the boat's sinking anyway

like a sun that got too lazy to rise again

your memory is not working right

emotions and events don't come

just tactile sensations

smells, colours, tastes

before you go down the last time

you take a deep breath

so that when you finally give in

something will bubble up

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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