I COULD SLEEP FOR A THOUSAND YEARS

The light breaks in and it always catches you unaware. Your head is heavy and you’re at your most vunerable as your face is baking and your eyes are shocked at the white, hot, light.

One, two, three, four aspirin later and you crawl out of bed, looking for something to fill the pit in your stomach or atleast mend the hole you keep digging where your heart used to be.

It wasn’t always like this.

You weren’t always living on the edge of greatness and worthlessness. You long for steady, mundane surroundings because, at the very least, they’re consistent.

What is consistency?

What is comfort?

Not the bars. Not the bottle. And finally, most definently, not the girls.

You know the ones I mean- the ones who talk loudly and proudly but have nothing to say. The ones who expect the world, and your soul, and your wallet. The vultures looking for a starved man to scavage, someone to tear limb from limb for the sake of tearing someone limb from limb.

I have four dollars to my name and a joint to pass the night away. I’m no worse off than you are.

I’m no worse for wear.

I’m a working man too. I’m as taxed as taxes and as overdrawn as my bank account. Consider this your notice of insufficient funds, I don’t give a shit anymore.

I care more than you will ever know.

I care more than you will ever let me show.

Whether I learn to love you or hate you is irrelevant, because, in the end I still feel something for you. Hating isn’t so bad, feeling nothing is by far worse.

“What was I looking for when I left?” I sometimes ask myself.

A poetic man would say it was love, while a man of independent thought would say freedom. My mother calls me a failure and my father damns my name. It wasn’t about them. It wasn’t about you. It wasn’t about me.

It just was.

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