#a wank

You get given a life and all this time and what do you do with it. You lose your ambitions quickly, but with relief. You apply your talents to the easiest routes. You chase pretty bodies around, tumbling about in parks and parties perfumed and lipsticked until you’re not pretty enough to do that anymore. You chase boys in bands around the world instead, reliving the whiplash of being awfully young when you’re not. Excitement is so precious, the teeth-chattering kind that lasts for weeks, worth the airfare. Then you sit in your apartment for a year, like everyone else who’s lucky. They’re forcing the windows off the hinges around you, fucking ugly new windows, crimes of pragmatism. You realise how small your world was even before now. You take the drugs you quit when there was a reason to. You vanish warm, you reappear sick, it happens countless times. The year swims. You wait. Time starts to feel finite. You’re running out of it. Not even that deep down, you know there isn’t much time. You sense it like every disaster that’s loomed in your body before this. Flashing red alarm in your spine or somewhere else, but loud, and you can’t wait.