The leafless four-leaf clover is laughing at you. But the joke is not funny anymore. You and your perfectly messed up hair. Me and my invisible tattoo. The perfect getaway from cloud number ten.
Unused tickets. Receipts stuck to the door. Postcards reminding you of what you had and what you lost. Colourful maps and you still have no idea where you're going or where you're supposed to go. Brilliant.
Drunk on Grafton. A fireplace in the bloody scream. Poetry unwritten. Heaven in my heart and a train back to the city. Goodbye good girl. My happy alliteration. More or less.
Now reality bites you in the neck. Vampire style. And you scream in silence to a dark grey hue.
Thinking about your lifeless four-leaf clover and my oxymoronic invisible tattoo.