(no subject)

[missmartini]

and the shots of jack daniels and the last lines of blow i did last night in the empty living room of my basement apartment didn’t make me feel any more ‘alive’ or connected or comforted or consoled and i’m not naive enough to have believed they would, but i was desperate enough to hope they may.

hollow recordings of memories and ink and verse and adoration.
and reminisces of rebellion and resolution and catastrophe and condolences.
i’ve gotten lost in half hearted dependence and deprecation and im dissolving...