i know im in a bad way when i want to be in a bad way and living off air and smoke and black liquid seems like a good idea and the sneaking suspicion starts that maybe ive been missing out on whats in all those pretty crystal bottles that everyone else gets to drink but not me never me but maybe me again just maybe.
its just that either way and no matter which way i twist it im broken any way i shape it anyway so whats the point of trying another way than the way i knew for so long, i mean, thats my way any way and no one would blame me for going that way its the alcoholics way its the junkies way and its a certain way i know well
its just that i already feel so grimy on the inside and i like continuity i want my insides to match your outsides his outsides her outsides but i just stay grimy and i know how to make my outsides grimy right quick and right to the quick of it
at least then i knew where the sad came from it came from wanting to be gone and the gone not coming fast enough but coming coming coming nonetheless this way im just waiting to be hit by a car or beaten at a bar or go down in an airplane real far trying to get out of this fuckin lonely loveless town full of books and academia and essays and mean boys who will fuck you just to reach in and grab your heart and swallow it whole and walk out the door satisfied with the blood drippin down the side of their mouth.
or ill just read faulkner and pretend im in the south with a love and the wind will bellow and billow real warm around us and ill get that same feeling i used to get in my gut from that flask of cognac me and my little imp used to carry around. cause there was nothing like it, nothing like those cold still days or nothing like the drugs or nothing like her my dearest friend my other half that stuck that rusty needle in my back. still, theres been nothing like it. maybe the south will heat things up again.
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