chunk 3

you want to talk about the future? well, i can't. let's chuck shit at these walls. at night in the city all the losers come out. and i could be one of them. the sidewalk familiar, the streetlights quick. the bars full because it's so fucking cold. i'm in the street holding my dick. oh, heaven, you're so thick with fog, it's haunting. i'm better off aiming underneath. it's warmer and i've lost hope. a former statue of happiness in my yard, still hard but all in pieces. i'm scarred but it's all just creases. you want to talk about the future? no, you don't want to talk to me. so the conversation ceases to exist. i refuse to talk about this. move on.