My Studio Room Where No Plays Nice

im getting tired of walking into a room of chewed up nicotine gum, empty klonipin bottles, a week old used condom, a ratty towel starched with seismic loads, and empty beer cans. Life’s surprises are erratic (or have been so far) and I dunnno even know why i wanna share with all of yall.

i moved out and now i wake up to a shrill jackhammer smashing old concrete foundations smashing, the sounds of nail guns, and the interminable pmmm pmmm pmmm of hammers. these fucking goddamn conctruction machines most be solar-powered because they turn on with the rise of the sun and continue to at least 3pm and if I’ve been home all day, I’m nearly ready to fuck shit up.

so i pour myself a drink.

and I used to think that’d end this crazy cycle..the little maturity I’ve gained lets me apprehend this habit’s depressive insanity..strange and sorta funny that no matter what who are, you always get a chance to leech onto or leap above something greater; sometimes im sucking all the love and sometimes im pouring it.

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