The past two days were recklessly engorged with alcohol.
Intoxication has become habitual. Each weekend, drowning one's self in an illusion of joy and folly; The jester entertaining not Kings nor Queens, but the ****, the weak, to deceive the empty crowd in my mind that I matter to someone. But matter is fleeting and we, myself and the abyss, understand the plight of today; waking up to nothing-- the empty abyss for which I am well acquainted with. Simply put, I am revisiting my old home from a not so distant past. The only difference between then and now is the relentless bottoms of empty glasses and a false sense of security and composure.