Caustic Soda Three Cheers For The f..ckhead In The Corner
Cold. The kind that seeps into your marrow. The kind that
creeps into an old car on a clear night. A clear night.
The kind that makes you kill for that unspecific anyone.
Finally, because you know it has been too long since you
felt someone elses skin. I just want to touch her. In a
quiet still coldness that settles onto every blade on the
ground and into every pore of your skin. But all you want
is the warmth. You dont care how you get it. You're both
lying on the floor, soon to be asleep or leaving youre
the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. Now you
get philosophical and you preach to yourself about fate.
You walk out onto the street, do nothing about it and go
home because its getting late and because shes drunk on
screwdrivers (Shes been dancing and laughing and smoking
in corridors). Just forget it, because last time you did
this you just woke up sore. In a quiet still sadness that
is all too familiar because of expectations because of an
over-active imagination. All you want is the warmth. You
dont care how you get it. But all you get is a sad
disappointment that is all familiar because of
expectations because of an over active imagination you're
the furthest thing from her mind at the moment and theres
not a lot you can do about it.
