Friday Night

And I don't want to spend this Friday night, like I had to spend last Friday night; dying by the record machine. All day cigarettes, all day entertain the void. There are so many things I should be doing but I don't, and I don't change. All day kerosene, all day I play with matchbooks. I push them all away or burn them alive in attempts to save me. Regret would require less arrogance. I like my self on the following conditions: that I'm better than the next guy at everything I'm into. And my looks are important if I'm less sophisticated. And my girlfriend's a bombshell and I'm all she's ever dated. And money's an object if it pays for my ego. Power's the drug, and pride s the needle. And it rips through my skin and goes into my blood stream. I feel like laughing, I feel like choking on it. I don't want to spend this Friday night picking fights by the record machine. True, but not quite, that I'm tired of the fantasy. And I see the light, but the dark is so accommodating. The worst mistake I cold make is watch you walking away. Not that I know how to change I do it just the same