2:55 A.M.

I think if I tried to recall every pussy I've stuck (attempted to) my dick in, my sense of nausea would be a very tangible thing. I'm a son of a bitch, & according to most others, I'm the only one who's aware of it. Amphetamines by day, booze & dinner with the lady in the white dress by night. I'm pretty sure I've gained weight, which oddly enough seems contradictory considering the amount of bullshit I ingest that's supposed to curb my appetite.
What a goddamn hypocrite, that one.
The one with the head of fire & the fat ass.
The one who relies on a walking credit card for a sense of stability borne out of a want of normalcy;
The one who relies on the shithead for a sense of comfort borne out of the worst kind of idealism:
Romanticism.
These motherfuckers bog me down in their nothingness when all I want is another way to say goodbye.
& that's the case more often than not; an escape.
I'll see you all in your attempt.