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dreams are trash on the side of the road.

i hate this place more and more everyday. nothing is worth it here.

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in the recovery room i wrote a list of all the ways that you are beautiful. it goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

wake up.
cry about it.
walk all the way down the hall.
smoke that cigarette you've been thinking about for a while now.
return to the room down the hall.
cry about it some more.
make a few calls.
shower.
pick up that bag you've been wanting.
good shit.
roll it.
smoke.
go home.
back to the room down the hall.
sad music.
cry about it some more.sleep

if only i wasnt so shy.

ps. everything is still empty and boring.

but i left my heart at the side of her bed and she's got the warmest body that i've ever had. drag the lake, you'll find it's full of love. bring the children to the water and let them see what heartache did.

summer was weak.

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