Numbed Out

"Fuck you" that's all Peter could say tonight, "fuck you," he had to shut one eye to light his cigarette. Plastered, like the wall in your bathroom, he ESPECIALLY did not give a shit. He couldn't tell left from right, his stomach felt queazy, he had to concentrate thoroughly on one thing. "Care" was the last thing he cared about.. He laughed at the planes flying by his head, his elbow slipped from the arm holder. "Worthless, like the dirt beneath my feet" but he knew that wast true, it was worth more than him, because it was holding him up.. He was fucked, and he was just talking shit because he was feeling "good." His favorite song kept repeating through his head, his fingers were numb, and he didn't care what he spelled wrong, but she cared, she corrected him...