she said she wanted to die in my arms

and I flinched.

like a scrape to the skin. a paper cut, maybe.

just a tinge of pain.

It was quick and it was fleeting.

But, it was there.

I never said I was a runner.

But, I am.

Random women, in random beds

they healed the scrape to my skin

soothed my soul and my mind

Endless bottle and endless lines

they made her fade away.

blurred out the look on her face and

the sound of her voice

as she lulled me to sleep.

She wasn’t mine

so I replaced her

over and over and over again

until it aches inside and my ribs cracked

open and exposed.

but, I held it in and ran faster, harder.

until there was nothing left inside of me

but a hollow moment and her eyes

The room is quiet, save for the mangled sounds of an out of tune J45. We’re out of time and out of place. The basic dream of Nashville and her name in lights…it fades away with the slow steady strum of a forgotten song, In a forgotten town.

She’s perfect, here In this Smokey room, with a tripped out gaze and an awkward smile.

Tonight she’s mine, just her and me, hidden away from the midnight stars and the midday scars. The realities of life drift away into some lysergic circle of here versus there. She’s singing to herself, something low and slow. Springsteen, I think, and look away. Lost somewhere in the sounds of her low Appalachian twang. It sounds like home and comfort, like roots I’d severed long ago

“There are ghosts inside me,” she said.

We were settled in, in a corner booth in a corner bar. music swaying in and out of the scattered chatter. Ian Noe on the radio and a mich ultra in my hand. Her sober eyes were a stark contrast to the broken vein, red eyed stare I was holding. Her lips didn’t smile but her staid steady gaze told me I was in. Someone said Nashville was too far away and we laughed, he was headed out to some wednesday gig in this nowhere town.

she looked away as I lit a smoke. swaying gently to the sounds of a southern summer night. Hints of Prine in the air. dancing through the cigarette smoke and the smiling faced locals.

there was graffiti on the wall and I scratched away at it as she sold her soul. Her story wasn’t different, dreamers dream dreams and you win or you lose.

Neither of us knew the outcome. But, tonight we had this corner booth, in this corner bar. With Ian Noe on the radio and her sober eyes staring into the wasted depths of my soul.

we both knew we would fuck. if not tonight some other time, in some other town.

She smiled at a stray from the bar, he licked his lips and adjusted himself. I watched the smoke swirling up and away from a Marlboro red. I needed a shot, I needed a line, I needed to lose myself. I ordered a Woodford on the rocks and drank it down steady and fast. two drinks in and another round. her hand was on my thigh. silently stroking my ego. I needed her ghosts inside me and i pulled her away. to seedy motel room in this sleepy town.

she fed my soul in a way I never understood. filled some odd void inside me.

we fell asleep to Cobain, her guitar scarred fingers stroking my skin.