Page 141 of Cherry Beats

The minute I’m nothing, I become the public’s everything. Feels like an execution. A slow one where the crowds snarl and smirk as they watch me kill myself through drum sweat and brandy tears.

Shit, this could be a song. Misery makes for good poetry.

I might come home soon, see your face once and feel better. Taste the medicine of you.

Maybe I’d feel worse.

What do you think?

Presley.

P.S. Rhett took a piss in my bathtub tonight…

While I was in it.

Hate me for me.

Cherry,

We’re number one worldwide.

Number. Fucking. One.

I want to celebrate with you.

Presley.

Cherry,

Coops talked about Bryan Adams today—said his mum was a big fan.

She’s in her late forties.

See what I’m saying?

You can do better than him.

I can’t believe I’m fucking jealous of Bryan Adams.

This shit is getting crazy.

Why do I keep writing to you this way?

Presley.

Cherry,

Do you want to know who I think the Devil is?

It’s a genuine, normal guy.

He’s smug. Got life figured out.

He thinks clearly. He’s calculated… every damn step he takes is measured and without emotion because who needs that shit? Passion is fuckin’ crazy, right? It’s wild, like fire. So the guy who doesn’t have it is in control. He’s cool. He knows when to strike.

HE’S the Devil.

The Devil isn’t manic, wired, and full of sin, Tess.

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