
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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