wauw,
what a night

the floor scattered, patterns of cheap cottonballs remains of pot and stated drug abuse. There is a fight in my kitchen, my morals a not provoced - you fight accordingly to a code of conduct, somebody wins, then we have power, then we have order, then there is culture. I will let them finish but there can be no talk of eating. There is a fight. There is a knife. There is victory.

Then there is the crowd and the party. Girls in halloween outfits though dominated by pink. They fall asleep in the couch after each dance, there is not enough drugs. Then suddenly she is there. Straight dress, casual. She sits on my lap, tanned and newly travelled. I mistake her for somebodys sister which she is not, her dead Mom then takes a strong presence.
I want to leave, I want to move into my room, but people are already there and her mind is like concrete. Then people leave and she wants it but as we rise from the couch I notice I have wet my pants and I run screaming for the door.

Snow.