There are outlines around their bodies that shimmer gold and white, and when I suck on my smoke and swallow another mouthful of beer, they move like the phantoms they are and from such a distance they seem so beautiful even though up close they’re as dull and blunt as the rest. In the hazy moment when we’re neither here nor there but close to the edge, a part of us still secretly wishes to be just like them, because to be like them is to fit in and to be normal and safe and accepted. The easy life seems like a dream at times, and yet whenever we get too close we back the fuck away when we realise just how subdued such an existence really is. Y’know, when it all gets too much, the image of you on your belly is always enough to set fire to everything in my life that has no meaning, which come to think of it, is pretty much everything. When I feel like giving up, the way you shine lifts me high into the air and launches me like a catapult into a creative frenzy. The irony is that when I’m on a come down from your affection, I’m as good as dead. The moral of the story is don’t let me go because without you I crumble. Those outlines around their bodies as they move on the sidewalk, how they try their best to seduce but how can I be seduced by them when I’ve got you in my heart, messing things up and making it your own as you so often do? Flicking my cigarette into the air as clouds come in and bring with them the rain, the crowd soon comes and sweeps me off my feet, but they don’t know shit. They never will, that’s why they’re part of the crowd. And so I struggle against them, treating them with the disdain they deserve. They hate me for it, I can see it in their eyes, and such a look is all I need to keep on resisting.