Stooping Low

Madonna swelling at the Kilmore, every girl a wisp of ungovernable smoke, and vomit on my shoes as they threw me out the door, addled and clueless as I was, and, forgive me, still am. I hit the tarmac like a warm can but you stood at the step and watched me breath, and would do it again. I was not swallowed by the dark completely. An addiction way past taming, you were a shocking case.