The sun stabs through my shades and I still haven’t slept.
It’s your fault, but you’re probably proud of it. It’s your fault, but you’re awake, too. Maybe our skin made a sleepless pact when it pushed too hard through the rest of our bodies. Maybe we’re just still high on cigarettes and skipping lines and other people’s spilled drinks. Either way, my gut’s still got the shimmers.
I actually hate it, the whole idea of planning myself around someone else. I don’t want to be quiet just because you’re sleeping. I don’t want to be naked just because you’re sexed. I said I’d never do it. But today I went outside for a Coke and I plopped myself too close to your stairwell, and swung my legs like Alice on the Wall.
I couldn’t stop laughing and I couldn’t stop hating, and the fizz in my stomach turned sour and warm at the same time. And I thought if I had to be tied to you, not always but sometimes, then maybe a part of me – the one I keep ignoring – could finally keep still.
Thank god you didn’t see me. But yeah, I wish you did.
[DAN HOERNER - AM I THE IMAGINARY SOCIALITE?]