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drink and guitarI sit here. Just you and me. You strum that guitar, with all your heart. I lay back look up at the ceiling and say “what brought me here?”  You laugh in that husky voice of yours. You strike a few chords on that guitar and say “Me baby, you came for me.”  I look at you and think “you bastard, I hate you.”  What did bring me here, was it you?  Strum that guitar and let it flow.  Here we sit. I light a cigarette and lay back as you string that guitar and I ask you, “who are you?”

You look at me with that crooked smile, that smile that makes me melt and say, “Sister Lynn you take my breath away. I am a waste of a man, I am a schizoid junkie with no job or prospects living with my mother. I have nothing to offer you, I have nothing to give you because I have nothing to give my self.”

I look at you and say “Rook, my brother, you are on the wrong side of my heart. I feel like where you are, I have nothing to call my own, I have no prospects, I have nothing, and I’ve got $40.00 in the bank. How am I any different from you?”

You string that guitar one more time. I take a shot of tequila and say, “we are both destitute. We have no hope for a future or a love, yet here we sit in each other’s company knowing how bad this is, knowing what the wrong side is, and yet barreling towards it at a hundred miles an hour. There is no hope for us, there is no hope for us.”

Oh Rook, hear my call. I want you in the worst way possible. It is forbidden, we have nothing. The bipolar chick and the schizoid man. Where do we go from here? I will hide I say.  I will hide from you because I am a coward.  I don’t know how to face this you or this situation. I can’t handle it. It makes me sad to sit here and say that I am going to avoid you.  I have to. Its better for us both if I do.

Look at me. This shell of a woman. Hollowed out over time by these men. String that guitar Rook. Let me hear that pain in those strings. Its the pain I have felt all my life. Let me hear it. Pull on those chords like the ventricles of my heart. Let me hear it. You make me face my pain. That’s why I fear you. Look at me. This shell of a woman. The great mystery that is Lynn. Who is she? You let me see her, you bastard. I don’t want to know her. She is a basketcase, a genuine mess of a human being. But you let me see her.

Goddam you Rook. I love the fuck out of you.

 

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