6.

So we were at this broad's place one more time. It was like the 4th or 5th time we went there after we moved her to this new house. And what a new house it was. A mansion. Had more rooms that you could actually count on your fingers and more tv's then a drunk man has stomach aches when waking up early in the morning before he is able to drink his first glass of water. Stuff and more stuff. A beautifull broad she was. I mean, fit and in perfect shape. Married a really rich guy who's a workaholic. I think he don't even fuck her anymore. That's probably why she keeps buying all that stuff. Does he thinks he'll have a drawer in his coffin where he'll be able to store all his money and take it with him to some paradise in afterlife? Sorry to tell you that buddy, but you'll die just like the rest of us suckers. And you'll stink too, believe me. You'll be eaten by worms and you'll have your flesh sucked by the mother earth back to where it came from and that will be the end. So what's the point? I kept looking to his wife, this broad I'm talking about, and she seemed really sad you know, like really bored but trying to fulfill her life with pictures and pieces of furniture. I mean, the girl bought Einstein's head sculpted in marble. Doesn't even look like Einstein's head at all. Doesn't look like anything actually. Just a fucking piece of white stone that costed her 50 grand. I mean, Jesus fucking Christ. And all the time she kept saying she doesn't really like anything she has and that she's planing to buy new stuff and change every damn thing. I'm sure she's actually lonely. Nothing wrong with that, I consider myself a pretty lonely person most of the time. I mean all of the time. I think deep inside I would like to just lay down with her and tell her that everything would be fine, and that all this things don't really matter. A full moon's night of true love. Something that it's worth much more then some guy's head sculpted in some piece of stone. But that won't happen. And that's fine. We'll just keep going our own separate ways, she pretending that she believes those things will someday bring her the confort she's looking for, and I pretending I don't need anyone else at my side, holding my hand at least for a minute during a warm night filled with insomnia, delirium and bad dreams. Pretending that all I need are words, words that can always ease the acrid taste on my heart but that can't hardly spit the ilusions out of my soul.