dancing after death

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

The door isn’t locked, and his headache throbs deep within his temples, head only raising once he can hear something inside, closing the door behind them. He supposes if something bad is coming for him he likely deserves it. But he hears the voice, head lifting with quiet surprise from the crook of his arm before he has to squeeze his eyes shut, fingers reaching for the bridge of his nose to shut out the pounding in his head.

She rounds the bar and spots him, and he sighs quietly before managing to open his eyes to look at her. “Hey. Thanks.” A quiet response, as though if he speaks too loud his mind might combust. “You can set them wherever.” The thought is nice, but he’s not hungry. He’s not sure when he will be. But he manages to focus on her long enough to inhale deeply, reaching under the makeshift bar for a glass and filling it with water before he rubs at his head again. “I meant to take the notice down.” He rumbles offhandedly, reaching for the glass, figuring that’s probably the reason she’s here.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth