LOU RASMUS

I haven’t touched these words in so long that they got covered in dust. And now I feel rusty as I try to readjust them. I can’t remember how where they were supposed to go. The order seems messed up. Or the purpose is missing. Or maybe they were just shitty words to begin with. That seems possible. I was probably just drunk when I spat them out. Drunk or high. Writing them just to write them. Writing them just to get the thoughts out of me. I must have been too fucked up to say them out loud. I probably was. Because this actually seems like something a drunk man would say to me at the end of the night when the party is winding down but the music is still playing loud and I can only make out fragments of what he says. A drunk man who can’t figure out how to write. It sounds like me.