you called.
i "forgot" to answer.
you left a voicemail.
i couldn't bother listening to your voice.
the gold paint made it hard to be alone in the cold.
my sweater...it no longer feels warm.
LEATHER.
and to top things off...i'm still cold.
the fixation of a boy and gold paint.
i have stopped painting.
every little ounce of creativity was killed, mutilated, by the sweater stained with gold paint.
HOW WILL I EVER LIVE-just an ounce of melodrama.
gold. the color of putrid pears.
gold. the always present reminder of how i heard your voice today.
gold. FUCK THIS HAIRCUT.
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