so his god says no

3 words

dont say i dont know, because i do know...i just cant remember much because im dozing off on the scrawls of ink over my knuckles...i know that i know what i believe... i just dont quite remember what it is im trying to prove



so im walking though the halls at school in a meloncholy state of mind when we passed,

3 steps

we both turn around, funny expressions. so he reaches for a pen. biology is boring, im dozing off once again on the scrawl of ink on my knuckles...words, numbers...i should have screamed that i love lost souls because they are the only ones you can find, i should have screamed that i love the grayscale because its the only thing you can change, i should have screamed




so im sitting in the back seat of the suburban when she climbed in,

3 hours

another mutual friend, another mutual friend conversation, but for some reason, the drive home is boring, im dozing off on the scrawl of ink on my knuckles...short words, lots of numbers...have i done this before? i should have wrote that i'd see her again and i should have wrote that one day i'd write her middle name in tears, i should have whispered




so im trying to open my stupid orange locker without success when i spy him

3 lockers

gangly body, brown hair, stupid beanie but completely mysterious in an unrealistic vision, the orientation is boring and im dozing off for the first time on the scrawl of ink on my knucles, 3 words, 10 numbers, simple. discreet. i didnt even think to tell him that i knew that one day we'd sit away from the crowd shaking, and i havent thought to tell him that im writing his story right here, i wont even think of

how im sitting here in my room

3 am

talking to you on the phone

you talking about memories

me talking about things i remember

your memory of that day you said

3
words

what god am i doing this for again, the ink scrawled over my knuckles says yours, but whatever happened to ours?

what god am i doing this for again, and why is it that this time your god is boring and im dozing off on the stream of ink pouring from my wrists.....

Hi Scat!!

A *very* interesting story, thank you for sharing with us.

I thought the structure was prose-poem in quality, and the final moment of "ink" from the wrists was unexpected, but made "sense" of the previous references ...

Thanx again Scat - more please!

i don't like it


just kidding. I do like it. your style is good too, may not be everyone's taste, but it's good.

It's like snuggling up to sandpaper. I liek it- it's raw, it's tough. Keep it coming.

DE