Somber Sobriety

My brain wakes up and cries for the death of its living baby. so used to hurling ourselves [booze] down the hatch, the still afterwake unscathed is surreal; like crying when happy, our system malfunctions.

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Addiction: Middle Management of Capitalism

exertion charred lungs feel good after branding, though spin class is actual hell. endorphins, you are not booze or coffee, but you are okay [for now] — suddenly there is so much more to do. Not addiction constrained to certain locations everywhere is a place to be; my body, unhooked from IV free to explore.…

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They Say

there’s always an eye opening moment before sobriety. The first time for me was the morning after waking up having dranken from the tank my miramo moss ball was floating in. — i remember drunk as fuck lifting the cold orb into my palms and pouring its contents down my throat until it was nearly…

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Those Eyes Have Seen Things Now

One of my neighborhood best friends growing up is a wanted fugitive for possession and dealing of “controlled substances” — we used to play “Can’t Touch the Ground,” “Kick the Can,” and shoot each other with squirt guns. Listen to Weird Al and try to wear moon shoes. — you used to put ice cubes…

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gambly gook

no matter how inebriated or tired my body has enacted upon ourself, i always want to go to the casino. i want to be where the air is full of crutch; my natural habitat. like prey to predator, predestined to be scavenged upon by my own bad decisions I relish to exist in the aura…

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old war tales

we traded our stories of addiction and abuse like pokemon cards; fondly, comparing their worth to us and strength of attack. “that one he was -always my favorite” “that one, he trained -me the most.” — Later

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