Little blue pills to help you sleep. I don’t like my dreams, so I prefer to drink. I’m clawing at my chest, but the real problem’s in my head.
At least that’s what you say.
There’s no such thing as love & freedom. There’s only money & sex, addiction & depression, poverty & all affection is misguided & the lies keep building up.
I am so tired, my bones do ache. There’s no time to rest, for now we’ll have to wait. And, finally, when I can lay with you in bed, for some reason, I’ll drink alone instead.
My decisions don’t involve me anymore.
Just one more taste and I’ll accept this is my life. My cancerous companion always does its job right, and a job’s a funny thing ‘cause it’s their money that you need to pay them back when someone’s charging you to breathe.
Nauseous and sweating, coughing ‘til my throat bleeds, and I'm shaking so goddamn bad that I can barely hold this notepad to read the letter that you left me to remind me
everything turns out okay.