I’ll chalk this latest mistake up to another bad decision made in poor lighting. I’m just happy it happened in Winter, so I have a ready-made excuse to always be wearing long sleeved shirts.

My heart remains silent, fearful of the shadows I’ve swallowed in my attempts to quell my hollow soul. With every beat, that darkness is pulled closer, and I’m left hoping this bottle of pills will be enough to keep the demons at bay, or else I’ll need to wash them all away in a rush of alcohol and flames, the sour taste of old liquor sticking to the tar in my lungs, building up an ocean of regrets that won’t give me any other option but to shut up and drown…

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