Scraps

 party girl was a character, a fun, naughty, dangerous one. it stopped people seeing the real me. which drinking and using did too. the way a cold glass and a fag stopped my hands feeling empty, drugs and alchol stopped me feeling empty. i was a character. but a shadow, a real ghost of a girl, a pencil sketch outline of myself. 

i went to the piano works last night in the west end with myself. scraps of it, but scraps of my real self. i hold the scraps in my hands and offer them to the others. i can give you this little piece: this little piece of me loves paul simon, this little piece doesn't know what to do with her hands, this little piece didn't hear you the first time, this little piece isn't very sure of herself anymore. but they're real this time. there's something real this time. in the few hours i spent with my friends last night they got more of me than i used to give in a whole week. sober, you can see me now.