𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝.

the sun comes up on tuesday morning and drives straight into my skull. through the blinds i was too far gone to close. and the first shameful thought that hits me. is that i actually prefer this ruined half empty bed. because it lets me chase the tape and the thrills without having to pretend i’m still functional for anyone else.

sure, i miss the smell of black coffee slicing the morning. and those soft sleepy kisses the girls used to plant on me. while i was still dead to the world. but right now. there’s a quiet, slightly shameful pleasure in these extra feet of space in my bed. where no one expects me to be normal.

the telephone buzzes and i let it die unanswered. because any bastard with half a brain knows good news always sleeps till noon. so breakfast is pills, water and clinking bottles. my supplements washed down with a blast of morning television. just to watch the polished liars deny everything i was screaming at them into the void at three this morning.

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