Ohio in the pitch black,
I turn to salt every time I look back.
The water tower stained, a shaded, baby blue.
The older I get, the hazier the view.
Haunted by the silence, followed by the faces.
Touched by hands in dirty places.
A cunning blonde for every addict,
Keep all the pain locked in the attic.
In the basement, post-coital tristesse.
Jessy sent you photos, Jessy sent you heroin.
Jessy’s a dark haired, big titted American.
At 25 you’d think I’d think less of nonexistence.
Still can’t find the path of least resistance.
General