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burn the witch, burn the witch, BURN THE WITCH.

i'm sort-of small in this big town. small, man. los angeles at night is ugly in a marred-beauty kind-of way; marilyn monroe's bones rotting away. clark gable's. RUDOLPH VALENTINO'S. {forgive me for thinking he was a wolf, by the way.}

hey, kid, i might as well take seven buses and the subway and get lost in town. pretend it's a new place. crawl my way home and drag my feet until i finally fall asleep, thinking about rabbits and street signs and some faraway place that's better than here. {stare at broken clocks at night because the stars are gone, but its right two times a day.}

twenty-four months from now maybe i'll cry acid tears, maybe i'll miss this place, but fuck, no, no, no. i don't think so. cheap imitations and minnie mouse weave better lies than that. {because long hair and knee-deep in snow sound like a better way to spend christmas than watching your dog take a shit.}