The Eve of St. Magnus

I don’t know which year is which anyway – even if I wanted to, I couldn’t say what the best thing was because the best thing does not come until this year is ended – here’s hoping that they’ll change the mirrors to make me look more pretty. here’s hoping that each morning isn’t as hungover shitty as they all were at the end here; let’s be clear – it’s mostly me; I have an awful weakness of feeling sad on eves and knowing that we cannot go back, here we perch upon the cliff – evil I did dwell; lewd did I live (the same forwards and backwards, just like our calendar is flipping back to swallow itself whole). I stole nothing this year – no candy, no sexy hearts, no second glances at tearaway parts – I got nothing but something rising in my throat – I have hidden myself in the folds of my coat and I hate it all hate everything but not you.

~ by perfectionatrix on December 31, 2011.