this morning #29.

this morning, it seemed like the scene was finally dead, as he sat alone on the edge of his bed, knocking a cigarette off into a red bedside bucket. he palmed his spiky-ass hair, dragging & pondering, becoming the past on a daily basis, holding on to 23, staring at the marks on his arm. marks of 23. marks of the beast. marks of the past on a daily basis. tired of "a leather cut is not business attire." hiding the fire. trying to change. finding the rage & serving its purpose but finding the sane was all of the rage & the sage advice was the way. drag & coffee & making a point, he stood up & went for the day,