I’m sitting at the drug store again trying to score drugs again.
Can’t say right when it began, only I can…
The date is meaningless, the occasion trivial
like the way it gets hot in a parked car.
The way he won’t answer even when I somehow know the answer.
Please pick me up, Indian Summer, way too hot for October!
Imagine haunted houses sweltering in this early autumn heat.
Can’t wait for things to cool down, burn my own tongue sometimes…
Get so anxious, wonder how close I am to the edge.
Maybe this is out of line. Maybe it’s all your fault.
