(The Van, from The Road to Montreal, 2010)
Fuck what you've heard. When all of this shit clears out, when all of our troubles are done (if they could ever be undone), then what? This world, this us, these moments, all will fail, all will fall, and where we stand will longer be the point where two points meet to form a bridge, to form an arch, to form a gateway to lands of unforgivable, beautiful, ridiculous moments. Our skin is peeling back, our eyes are red, and our fingernails are black. Don't smell my feet, don't look at me too close, because I won't smell your breath, and I won't taste your hair. You, your disguise is my lust, for ugly is the new beauty, and where perfection comes short, or is never at all, you stand in all your inglory. I hold these fragments high, so that the sun can bath them, and over time they will fade to the bleaching radiation. All of our memories are being forgotten, and the only thing that remains are feelings; detached and faceless. Waking up next to a stranger, who are you. All I know is that I want to be stupid with you ->.