I was fucked up Last night.
Bout ta get tore up tonight. “And on the way I’m burning kush.”
Lover of mine, won’t you lay by my side.
Bout to go grab that eighth.
So much of me wants to hate you. So much. But I just can’t. I’ll always love you in my own way. And the Black Keys are helping me move on, along with much needed help from alcohol.
This post is irrelevant.
Though I’m sure they all are, simply because I’m sure no one reads them.
There aren’t words to describe me and my life. “Writer’s block” would be the only fitting phrase. I can’t explain. I can’t say it, write it, play it, or even conceptualize it internally. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not necessarily sad; I think I’m just unresolved. I don’t know.
Maybe I’m just lonely.
Slowly dying with each passing moment.
An interesting sentiment.
“I was born without you, therefore I can live without you.”
This is perfect.
I’m leaving and I’m not telling anyone where I’m going.
