The brass casings hit the floor long after the light is gone.
I drank to forget. I drank to numb the pain. I drank to never dream again. It haunted me ever since I woke up from it. Couldn't get back to sleep. The one thing that'd I'd hope to have forgotten in six years. I wonder how much time will have to pass for my subconscious to stop fucking with my heart and to just get over it.
Vodka goes down like gasoline if you don't mix it. Doesn't matter how much of a watermelon twist it has. Your hand mechanically reaches down and you pour another unmeasured shot down your throat. The taste is interesting on your tongue but you shudder as it hits the back of your throat. You chase it down with imported beer and concentrate on not remembering. Watch TV. Watch a DVD. Have a smoke. Think of anything other than that.
There wasn't a genuine smile on my face all day. It was apparent at work. She new something was up. But my problems are mine. Little predicaments and mental labyrinths that I need to get past on my own. I like to think that my path is a lonely one. I guess it makes me mysterious or at least that's what one of them said a long time ago. The truth is that when I reach out for help I often end up grabbing hold of a foot rather than the hand I'm looking for. Friendship is starting to become a more concrete term of simple social relation. I don't blame them. I blame myself for expecting so much.
After seven years I come to realize that I've done little with my time and I wonder what it's all worth in the end.
Vodka goes down like gasoline if you don't mix it. Doesn't matter how much of a watermelon twist it has. Your hand mechanically reaches down and you pour another unmeasured shot down your throat. The taste is interesting on your tongue but you shudder as it hits the back of your throat. You chase it down with imported beer and concentrate on not remembering. Watch TV. Watch a DVD. Have a smoke. Think of anything other than that.
There wasn't a genuine smile on my face all day. It was apparent at work. She new something was up. But my problems are mine. Little predicaments and mental labyrinths that I need to get past on my own. I like to think that my path is a lonely one. I guess it makes me mysterious or at least that's what one of them said a long time ago. The truth is that when I reach out for help I often end up grabbing hold of a foot rather than the hand I'm looking for. Friendship is starting to become a more concrete term of simple social relation. I don't blame them. I blame myself for expecting so much.
After seven years I come to realize that I've done little with my time and I wonder what it's all worth in the end.