syd
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2005
- Messages
- 273
There was a time when you thought you might write or create something some poor cursed soul could find comfort in. Standing in the rain clutching a half empty bottle of cheap whiskey, nostrils irritated and red from countless lines of coke, that all too familiar sting in the corners of your eyes, watching the last three years of your life pack the last of her things into a friends car, you realize you’re the one who’s helpless and confused. This point isn’t lost on your latest failure’s friend as she flips you off on her way out of the parking lot.
You tilt your back and let the rain mix with your tears and kill the majority of the whiskey without taking your mouth from the bottle. This wouldn’t bother you so much, as numerous relationships have come and gone over the years, most of which have ended in a much more violent manner, but you really thought you had a shot at this one. Marriage, mortgage, 401K, walks in the park, fucking surround sound.. Long term thinking for a junkie. Too many drugs, not enough, who the fuck knows at this point, but one thing remains front and foremost in your mind. It’s your fault.
The straw that broke her back wasn’t even that big of a deal. A cheap shot about your childhood from her while she was shit faced stoned, three new holes in the wall, a fractured wrist, two police officers later and you couldn’t believe you had just flushed the last nine hundred and eighty three days of your life down the shitter. At the time, except for the pain in your wrist when you put your weight on it, the argument really didn’t seem to matter. You fucked, shot some dope, and slept the sleep of the unjust. Pretty much like the night before and the night before that and the night before that. Then you woke up and noticed the absence of warmth lying next to you.
You walked slowly back inside, based the rest of your coke, smoked until you thought your heart would explode and ignored the phone as her special tone you had answered a thousand times before rang until the sun was painting the room through the blinds.
You tilt your back and let the rain mix with your tears and kill the majority of the whiskey without taking your mouth from the bottle. This wouldn’t bother you so much, as numerous relationships have come and gone over the years, most of which have ended in a much more violent manner, but you really thought you had a shot at this one. Marriage, mortgage, 401K, walks in the park, fucking surround sound.. Long term thinking for a junkie. Too many drugs, not enough, who the fuck knows at this point, but one thing remains front and foremost in your mind. It’s your fault.
The straw that broke her back wasn’t even that big of a deal. A cheap shot about your childhood from her while she was shit faced stoned, three new holes in the wall, a fractured wrist, two police officers later and you couldn’t believe you had just flushed the last nine hundred and eighty three days of your life down the shitter. At the time, except for the pain in your wrist when you put your weight on it, the argument really didn’t seem to matter. You fucked, shot some dope, and slept the sleep of the unjust. Pretty much like the night before and the night before that and the night before that. Then you woke up and noticed the absence of warmth lying next to you.
You walked slowly back inside, based the rest of your coke, smoked until you thought your heart would explode and ignored the phone as her special tone you had answered a thousand times before rang until the sun was painting the room through the blinds.
