My inner angels and ghosts
I sit. I write. Alice comes next to me, she walks, she smokes, sometimes she gets high. She does this while I am trying to write. She is annoying. She doesn’t let me concentrate.
I have a million ideas to write about. She doesn’t care. When I manage to forget her, she whispers random stories in my ear. Alice still young but already damaged. Drugs, homelessness, death…