Alcohol. I can't stop.
But I want to. Sort of.
Can't get out of this.
Don't want to get out of this.
Every single day
Fighting to
Go back to the way things were.
Hiding in the shadows.
In the darkness.
Just sitting. Drugs in my hand.
"Kick them to the curb" i try to tell myself.
"Lose them" I urge
Myself.
No, I can't. They soothe me.
Otherwise I would be dead.
People would hate me.
Quit saying that! They already hate you!
Right. No one likes a drug addict.
Some beers wouldn't hurt.
Too many. Oops! My life is
Useless. No one wants it. I'm a
Vase being held by tape and glue.
Without drugs and alcohol, I will die.
Xtreme measures to get them.
Yet do I need them? Yes. Maybe.
Zilch