graffiti, every written ode to her was just spray paint in a public urinal, ignored after awhile, grown to become just another eyesore in the day to day
i became just a panhandler at the street corner begging for the small change glances she have to every other grubby loser with a cleverly written sign
i told myself i could quit her, go cold turkey, ignore the pangs of addiction, the sweats, the spiders crawling on my skin, and i did for a few moments longer each day
so i took my cans of paint, put them in my backpack along with the cardboard sign proclaiming she was the end of my world and went back to my alley shelter
i doubt she even noticed i was no longer there, rattling my cup for one more look, tagging every space with her echo, just more littered annoyance to step around
I have felt this exact same way myself. I totally get it. I think if I disappeared like two people might notice?? Or not. I don’t know.
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It’s rather eerie that our basis for each of our last posts here are exactly the same yet they took such a different direction
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same coin, different sides
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Sure
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or not maybe…
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Another good one, thanks for writing, thoroughly enjoyed reading it!
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…..I liked and like this. memories of ‘healthy’ anger ‘spray paint in a public urinal’……
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