Garffiti on a bathroom wall told a story of great angst. Spelt out the names of honest people with cheap lives underneath the skin. The numbers lead to the phones of houses of those  who pretend not to want to change, as we all do.

Garffiti on the wall told me a secret, as I vomited the drugs he gave me. Told me the name of a doctor that only healed the lusty. My hand smeared the message told by a stranger. My heart hated his as much as longed for the quere from the poison that pollutes me.

Garffiti on the dirty bathroom wall intriged me. Told me and taught me not to listen. To walk out and not tell him my secrets. Instead, I left my own story...on and upon a garffitied bathroom wall...