I promised.

I'm shiftless at best.

Really looking at things.

I'm trying to find my way and it isn't working.  I keep plunging myself into drink, and cigarettes and anything to take my mind off of things.  And none of it is working.  Even as I type this I can feel the burn on my hand from putting a smoke out there.

I'm trying to stop.  But I can't seem to get my mind around the whole rest thing.

Every moment I'm longing for sleep and fighting against it.

I don't hardly know what to think any more.

The siren call of writing and the endless churning of my mind make for a powerful force.  I've got to try again.

I'm going to lay down.

I promised.

I promised You.

File under Vice.

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