With each trigger constantly one day away I feel the need to give up. What’s the use of running shoes if your demons keep pace. What’s the use of the old words when the new are all so golden in their own eyes. I’m leaving out the question marks because these questions need no answers. As rare as that is in my line of work. I just lay the day away with whiskey and cigarettes. Leaving out the poetry and just writing cold. I need a saviour as much as I hate it. But I notice everything so I know they aren’t coming. What a strange life. 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s