In rare form.
Exploitation of the emotional kind
My old friend says
�Let�s drink until we can�t feel feelings�
I agree, but, the haunting truth is
we will wake in the morning like always
and awake we will be once again having to drink until we can�t feel feelings
Never ending yet a comforting repetition.
Where is my Irish love? Lost to me for now�. not forever..
He lies sleeping north by 3 hours. So close beyond stillness yet eternities away.
Torn in a million shreds
twisted deformed in all the right ways of the girl I once was.

Is our playground fairy tale damned...
Condemned to be abandoned�
vacated due to forced distance?

Abandonment issues choke me out in my sleep
Arm, lips, ankles, tits, back hair, decayed teeth and burned broken ribs
Drug crazed youth enveloped in rancid back-ass-wards love.
Befouled, bludgeoned and broken hearted�.
I lie naked spewing cellulitis infectious blood mixture on the floor�
soaking in the truth of my health.
9.9% by volume�excuse me my perversion in these salty places I have to hide.
My old drunken friend sings me sweet punk rock lullabies. Ever licking my wounds.
Corn dogs, chaser and pastrami double stuffed on rye.
�BABE! Lets drink until we can�t feel feeling.� Sounds good.
Now my only fear is the inevitable�
Waking in the coming dawn to find
Once again and like always,

I�m still alive and feeling feelings�.
Missing the best asshole I�ll ever know.