I’d just like to know-
I’d just really like to know, for real,
cause everytime I lose one of them something inside of me dies-
a lot of things die inside of me and I-
Would just really like to know if new ones are born or if they are replaced somehow ‘cause y’know,
or if they just stay dead-

I’m just scared I find myself on my 30’s, maybe 40’s, smoking my lungs out and drinking my soul away and dancing and flirting and kissing and then fucking strangers on my mom's purple couch for the only reason of owning their heart and their minds for a few seconds, a few minutes, and then never seeing them again ‘cause of course why in hell would I want to see them again?
Then I hurt them and they hurt me 'cause naturally you get attached and who the hell wants attachment-
I definitely don't want attachment-
and then they leave and I am left here, very dead and very empty; feeling what this town must be feeling like: dry, circulated by a very few grey cars, inhabited by 17 squared people, all of them called Mary and John except for their children, the young ones who are eager to leave; doomed to be situated out of the track forever-

known by anyone, forgotten by everyone.

I really hope new buildings and lights and people and love stories and tattoo art galleries and flower shops and bookshops and theatres and bridges are born inside of me-
Actually, I know they will not be born inside of me.
I will have to build them. And I will build them again,
'Cause at the end of the day I know I do not want to be The Town,
I want to be The City.