‘Cause you never wrote any of the good parts down You just lived ‘em and let ‘em s l i p
a
w a y
You knew better than to try to capture the silliness in its hay day because then you’d have to face the facts of the very choices that you’d made; and there would be no question - whether it’s was worth it - to waste the days by trading them for nights of frivolity and frolicking - Of frittering away. What should have been, and what is so, and where it came from, and who’s to blame would all be there in Black and white, instead of vanishing in the haze.
And in your own hand, no less; your words, a confession dictated day by day of what, With your own eyes, you did see - All the magic and the wonderment of this tragic comedy - through foggy lenses, bottle-thick and stained: dreary ramblings in shadows made, and heard and said a many things in drunken dangling reparteé.
(Found beneath the body of the author, who was crushed by the weight of a megalithic stone- his writers block) p.s. - I spent far too much time on the ascii vampire skull; but isn't it neat?