oh sure sure, because Burroughs didn't exactly celebrate his ****** addiction in his writing... what's there, not to celebrate? alcoholic or not, i enjoy the masochism involved in the recuperation period of, the next day, for about two hours, before i come to my senses and retain some form eloquence... my English verbose plush... of a tangerine, or a plum... but hey... no one says to a painter: too many colors, or... not enough colors... but i'm pretty sure that Mozart was criticized... in that film: Amadeus... by Emperor Leopold II... too many notes... too many musical notes... ****... well... let's just listen to the ambient music of the refrigerator's drone hum, snooze, buzz and frizz.
Sometimes i wish i could go back to the end of 2015 and the very beginning of 2016. I don’t remember having very many deep emotions or overwhelming feelings i just remember floating on top of everything. The only big emotion i really remember having was when i got my first real feelings for a girl. I used to stay up reading wattpad stories and the only song i would listen to was lost boy. I dreamed of being in love one day, and i would wake up everyday thinking of a new way i can finally talk to her. It all seemed so simple. I was so innocent, so pure. My hair was down to my waist, straight as could be, tamed and frizz free. I didn’t know anything, i was blind, i was excited to be alive, i had no idea one day my hair would be at my shoulders and my life would take a turn. Now i take pain killers because i don’t want to be in pain anymore and i always check the weather before i visit the cutter. I hope it’s not all over, i hope some of my innocence is still there, i hope it’s not all gone forever, i hope my hair grows back to where it once were.