that is not your name; you only fucking show me how it is you need a name to go by for people to call you to shout at you to use in bed. that is not your fucking name. I am here now counting each of these words being scared of the consequences. This is me being scared of the consequences. I need to have a fag, I need to have a fag, my chest is heavy and I need to get away from my boring life.

I am thinking of you, dearest darling. Of the times when my fringe was sticking on my forehead and that was a fashionable choice. The times when I was wearing a shirt for a dress and could not smell the dirty loneliness of the vast city. The times when I could only feel the excitement and the filth and nothing else; when I did not need to earn a living, when I only had to walk and read. I was good at that. Now I have to earn a living; how tiring; to sacrifice everything you have in order to hate yourself every morning. And to be scared that even that shitty job of yours will be taken away from you one day. That, which makes you drug yourself every morning and have chocolate for breakfast and crisps for lunch.

Get the hell out of here, get the hell out of here. You run around all day long, your weight still running; get the hell out of here. Walk in the night on the small street on the green grass on the dead leaves in this ugly town. Run around, go to this, go to that, nothing for you, nothing for you, nothing in it for you, nothing in the whole world would make me stop now. Just get the hell out of here; out of this small big sweaty bed of yours; just get the hell out of your bed and go clean up and be a man.

I scream and shout and then simply say I cannot keep doing this any longer. What's wrong, what's wrong you say; you pull your body next to mine, your carpet stinky. You hold me and hold me, what's wrong. I cannot keep doing this any longer, running and carrying my own weight; I am too heavy and too old for all that. I have been heavy and old for a very long time. What's wrong. Who cares what's wrong, you only say that because you do not want to see me crying, you say that to remind me I should not cry. And I try my best not too. I discover you have a freezer instead. Onion bread and chicken tikka, this is all you eat, night after night, in front of the giant screen of yours. I have never had chicken tikka in bed; I have now. What's wrong and my weight is heavy and I even travel light. Pair of knickers and a dress.

I am down here and I can see one thing; the hole of your asshole; you wake up and turn around your hole is turning little sweat on the side it has been warm during the night; you were scared of catching a cold; you left the heating on all night long; you had this weird dream, screaming and shouting: but I AM HAPPY I am happy but I am happy, your arsehole is happy that is for sure. You wake up, you turn around, a little sweat, you wipe it off pressing your shirt into your arse how disgusting; imagine if when you are thinking about me you then press the same bit of cloth into your mouth. How darling.

You are fucking teasing me; you stick your tongue into my mouth and then you say you want to catch the last bus, you have to catch my fucking Tongue you fucker don't want to mess this shit because I know I would and if you d like to come over for tea I have no sugar I have to warn you darling no sugar from me tonight, perhaps from someone else
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