There is no question
It's another little downward spiral. I hadn't really felt this way for a while,but here it is,so maybe I can write about it.
Just one letter at a time,like all i have is one breath at a time,no one has ever taken two at a time,have they?
Maybe some yogic maestro.The anger flashes are coming in nicely,yeah-forget HER ! And screw her,and nuts to him,like a five-year old my face grimaces.I have no friends,so fuck everyone.I wish I was more selfish.?. Then I repeat it,maybe even out loud...I ... have... no friends. hahahaha
But I know how to eat,yes. And over eat.
And these last few years have put me back in the drivers seat in terms of cheffing.Is that a verb? Of course it is.
Anyway,I got some pizza,good quality.From a garbage can,I still got my touch.
And that's my future,back to the trash.
All these lovely antiques and instruments and collectible books and badass DVD's are just junk in the long run.
Will I do it sober this time? What are the odds...certainly not favorable in terms of a happy outcome for our narrator.
The drugs have been singing my song.Once in a while.My body is breaking down,the years are adding up.
When peon and artiste are on your resume that's pretty much a ticket back to skid row.So it goes.
And Scott died,and Steve died,and Peter died and next Duncan then Angie and then it's me and some lawyers and I can predict a happy outcome there,with rainbows and felt-clad moonmaidens whispering my secret name while they giggle and shrug and admire the soul inside my eyes who once thought he was friendless and hopeless and destined for an unfathomable struggle.Kid,you ain't seen nothin' yet.
Just one letter at a time,like all i have is one breath at a time,no one has ever taken two at a time,have they?
Maybe some yogic maestro.The anger flashes are coming in nicely,yeah-forget HER ! And screw her,and nuts to him,like a five-year old my face grimaces.I have no friends,so fuck everyone.I wish I was more selfish.?. Then I repeat it,maybe even out loud...I ... have... no friends. hahahaha
But I know how to eat,yes. And over eat.
And these last few years have put me back in the drivers seat in terms of cheffing.Is that a verb? Of course it is.
Anyway,I got some pizza,good quality.From a garbage can,I still got my touch.
And that's my future,back to the trash.
All these lovely antiques and instruments and collectible books and badass DVD's are just junk in the long run.
Will I do it sober this time? What are the odds...certainly not favorable in terms of a happy outcome for our narrator.
The drugs have been singing my song.Once in a while.My body is breaking down,the years are adding up.
When peon and artiste are on your resume that's pretty much a ticket back to skid row.So it goes.
And Scott died,and Steve died,and Peter died and next Duncan then Angie and then it's me and some lawyers and I can predict a happy outcome there,with rainbows and felt-clad moonmaidens whispering my secret name while they giggle and shrug and admire the soul inside my eyes who once thought he was friendless and hopeless and destined for an unfathomable struggle.Kid,you ain't seen nothin' yet.
