I get emotional

when I’m loaded.

So let me talk and

you listen, and

if things get unbearable

shut your eyes, take cover,

picture in that beautiful head

of yours the purest place

in the universe.

Your place of solace

is not here, I know that.

How could you be at

peace with a man

who has no idea who he is

and so he does whatever he can

to escape you, to suffocate himself.

I don’t like this.

I don’t like myself.

I don’t care to pretend.

I don’t remember how to do the simple things that make us happy.


I do what I can.

I seek you out like a bottom feeder

cruising at lightless depths,

in deepest night,

when half the world is either asleep or dead,

I’m searching



I get sensitive when I’m loaded,

and I think it’s safe to say I miss you.

The easy thing to do is walk away. If

that is the kind of person you want to be,

then fine, do it.

But remember how you’re leaving me.

Burn this image into your brain, and

when you’re older and more alone than even

I am now, think about what it is you

did. I am not a coward.

I get brave when I’m loaded. Right

now, sitting in this fuckall nothing-

burger of a town, in the lobby of a hotel

in Dipshit, CA where outside the

dry summer grass sounds like ocean waves

as it makes love in the wind, right now

while the man behind the counter wonders

what terrible set of events must have happened

to a man like me, redfaced, and clearly loaded

with not a single person remaining to push away, thinking

I don’t want to ever be that guy–right now, I can say,

with absolute honesty,

that you are the only thing I miss in this world,

really, the only thing is you.

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