Of Nights


When I close my eyes, I see you.

It fuckin' pisses me off. What the hell is a skinny-ass doing in my head? You're not even naked. You're not even talking dirty. You're just…there.

I don't get it.

I don't even like you…that much.

It's late enough to where the moon is lighting up our campsite so I can see you and Fish-face sleeping. You've somehow rolled out of your bedding, sprawled out in the dirt with a stupid smile on your face. I think you are drooling too. Ha, who is the filthy one now, bitch?

Bitch. When you aren't yapping away 'bout some stupid shit, or trying to hit me, or chasing that fucking squirrel thing around, like right now I guess, you look kinda…small. Tiny even. This is how you always are when I close my eyes. How the fuck are you so big when you're awake? I bet you weigh nothing. I bet I could throw you across the field right now and hit that old tree over there if I wanted to. But I don't want to...only because you'd probably cry and squeal and try to hit me a lot and then I would never get any sleep.

I just…I just want you out of my head.

Or if that won't happen I want you at least to be naked so all this shit would make sense.

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