Needle into a Bug
The other day I was sitting at the bus stop, no particular reason, in a James Dean pose, like the one that used to be in my bedroom. A cigarette all to carelessly hung from my lips. Daydreaming; much like he must've everytime he took a picture.
Ya know it's funny how everyone I've ever looked up to died before I ever got a chance to really know them. Maybe I will too, and someone else will be writing this same melancholy; the sky like frothy water above them, wondering what tomorrow brings.
Jesus, do any of us know?
"But I swear that I don't have a gun."
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