jenn45al

It's Saturday night and outside I hear a car engine coughing out its exhausted smoke. I am much like that car except I am too far on the inside and I have a heart, I think, I wish I didn't most of the time -- like on lonely evenings when my petrol-thoughts steer themselves out of control   and straight into the wooden floor. Or when hydrocarbon tears escape through pores, crawling straight down my cheeks shouting 'man overboard' as each droplet jumps from my jaw line. Or when you are not here, but I am and I'm combusting as you hold a tin-foil star out of sight and you tell me even if it's crumpled it is still t