Taynt

Streetlights flood the empty lanes of your heart with shadow and fluorescent swearing; The gutters run rich with your next meal of regurgitated sorrow. Involuntarily and wholly unladylike. Now stand up an be a man! The train tumbles in a straight line to the blood splattered like graffiti on your stucco skin; 'X' marks the spot, 'XXXX', stitches across your eyelids and. Quite possibly over the remains of your soul. At least it's holding together. Dial-a-friend, Rent-a-conscience, Hire-a-shoulder-to-cry-on or at least to break down the splintering door; Filth and your pet morality have found a home behind the Ark of the Covenant:

I don't smoke, but I make a point of carrying a lighter. For the explicit purpose of being able to say: "No, sorry, I don't", when someone is looking for a light. All the while knowing that my back pocket is heavy with the little lie. It turns out that lighters are also useful for burning things. Things such as my favourite pair of jeans. It is because of this small, seemingly irrelevant fact that I no longer go skinny-dipping. And it was this small, seemingly irrelevant fact, which was indirectly responsible for my position at this particular point in time. I was naked except for the aura of foolishness that pervaded me, whilst I was perch