"You can turn any ol' thing into art." - Mom.

Letting you know. Letting you know that I'm done. For now. Letting you know that I will be oblivious this entire month. And I wouldn't want you to think that it's done for me. It's done this month. It's done for now. Because I knew you could worry. Because I knew you would be angry. Because I knew you would change it all for yourself. I'm just letting you know. I'm done. So don't push me. Don't talk to me. Don't tell me I'm wrong. And I suppose you would've guessed that we did bad. You told me that. You did.

Today has ironically been a good day.

Aurora. She'll get better. I know it has been a terrible day for her. Tomorrow will be better for her. Hopefully. 

When I get a hold of money.

I'll buy the world. 

I'll buy many dresses.

 I'll buy many guitars, many mics, much music equipment.

 For you and I.

 I'll buy food. 

I'll buy fancy fruit drinks.

I'll drink wine with my breakfast.
I'll sleep in your bed.

And, I'd steal back my pillow. (God, that fucking pillow)

Money.  

I'm talking a new car, caviar, four star, daydream, think I'll buy me a football team.

Yeah, no do-goody-good bullshit.

That kind of money. 

But I'll never get it. Says the postcard.

Why did it form into this.

Didn't have to evolve. 

Save my eyes. Save my eyes for the rest.

Wait. Waiting.

Wait, you say.

Weigh down the pressure in my skull.

It's not at all you. It's my withering skin in the suit.
This suit I'm in. 

The suit that layers as the words pass by.
Not one minding. Nor do I.

I just hesitate. Hesitate.
Wait. 

Because it's worth it.

Worth the mile it takes.

Worth every mistake.

So I'll wait.

Sincerely, Cigarette. 

I'll stop with the clothes. 

Goodnight, stranger.