Except For The Smell

Right. There is a place inside me I do not want to show you. There is a place inside of me I found that I can go, when needed, or when I feel necessary. This place is not good. Good things do not occur when I go there. I like good things.
This place. This is a place, we all have. I am sure of it. It is simply a matter of needing to reach it. So one day, if ever, you need to, you will have it and you will be fine. I like good things.
I like good things I swear I do. You wouldn’t know it to look at me. You wouldn’t know it to read my mind. But I do. I like good things.
Barbecues. Little league. Dance recitals. Reunions. Parties. Parades. Dance halls. Holidays. Dinner. The circus. The spa. Bars. Brothels. Testing centers.
I like good things.
There in lies the rub. Because I like them, and there was a time I loved them. Now, because of the place inside, I am unsure if I love the place or the good things more. I want this place to go away. But I want to watch the good things die in a fire so hot and raging the demons can fuck with them. This place inside, it loves me.
It loves me more than the barbecues, little league games, dances, parties and all the good things combined. It protects me. It makes me like a man I admire. It is going to get me arrested.
I went to Dresden last weekend and I hated that I missed the bombing. I stayed in an above 5-star hotel. It was an, “Elite Hotel of the World.” Wow. I got so drunk I slept in a doorway in an alley. I woke up in the morning. I stumbled to the hotel and showered in a 24 karat shower. I am rock and roll.