Karma Police by Radiohead

Electronics speak through the walls, calling and fighting. A calamity of fuzz and static emotion bleeding into the wall paper.

I can’t take anymore.

My teeth grind through sleep, dust down my throat and shadows behind eyes.

She lies next to me, making a cat’s cradle on the ceiling, her jeans ripped, hair hiding her lips.

The lamp rattles and we hunt for cigarettes amongst the rest of the rubbish on the floor. We’ve lived happier lives, but that was then, and now there is just nothing better to do.

She turns on the backburner to light the last cigarette and says we have some party to go to.

More music, more dancing.

I can handle it, I tell her, scratching at my sleeves. It’s all good.

I feel like a ghost walking through the night streets. My back aches from emptiness, she’s light as a bird on the asphalt.

The party happens. I vomit on the floor not five minutes after our arrival.

I thought I was better.

The music thumped, heavy and hard and wet. The heat was full blast. She kissed me, my fingers ran through her hair, then I fell.

I didn’t think I could get this sick.

She carried me home, dragging me down the black path home. No more vomit, empty stomach. I could feel angel wings of shame sprout and carry my body on the slight pride I had left.

I stayed at the door, sitting on the outside steps, watching the lights blink on and off

On and off

Up and down the road. My fingers ache, my hands shake and I can’t get rid of this ill feeling. I wait for the dawn to cleanse me, here on my roost, burn away the night and leave me pure:

Leave me to give all I have for yet another day.