the damaged

brassai photo

The day i met the king by the hands of the ancient film gods i nearly loss my eyes, and by lost my eyes I mean literally my vision grew poor. I'd never laughed so hard in my life, my face grew numb but the laughing wasn't therapeutic , it was the sky, the big grey clouds, they were the same grey clouds that filled my dreams as a 11 year old child. I didn't care that he'd be leaving tomorrow because for the time being i was walking on those ugly grey clouds and it was worth my aura turning blue.

i don't care about you baby, when the wind hits you in the face i hope you think of riding in my car up route 66 with a coffee in one hand as you ate a big piece of lemon pie, you loved pie, you loved sweets i didn't care too much for it but i stuffed my face too because you wanted to share, to share ... like young kids do in the playground. you were a big baby, and not in the way women call men big babies to offend them. in the purest sense of the word. you were pure at heart, like a child longing for acceptance, wanting to feel loved by the ants, the fireflies, the big gigantic mama cow, you wanted it all, good country people, wild babies, drowning out the sounds of people crying themselves to sleep. you wanted american flags, the king, unsweetened lemonade, lots of ketchup, drive in diners, rollerskaters, and women with disabilites. you had big gold hands, that i later realized were made of copper. i dont love you , or him, or the other, i don't care for anybody but samuel for he taught me how to drive a car.