speak to me of band-aids and mercurochrome

A pull.  Sometimes it can be a good thing.  Being drawn to something, and maybe you can even find fulfillment there.  But most of the time it just hurts.  A sharp yank in a direction which you had no intention of going.  Totally fucks up your gait, if not completely landing you on your ass.  And with a dislocated arm to boot. 

If you think about it, it seems most of our lives are spent repairing.  Either by what we, other people, or various outside forces have done to us. 


Though sometimes no matter how much spackle you slap on, or how many coats of new paint you add, there will always be a few things that are never quite the same.

Wounds that will never close, bruises that won't fade.  a hole in your chest where something used to be.  But now there's just an art deco lamp, because it looks pretty and makes the hole less noticeable.

Can we just sit on the concrete and pout for a minute?