“The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.” I don’t have a problem. She tells me I have a problem, and my not “admitting it” is a problem—not the problem but just a problem. But it seems to me that the not “admitting I have a problem” problem causing a problem is not my problem but her problem.
I don’t keep any old pictures or love notes. They are given Viking burials in an ashtray, and stomped out with a cigarette fresh from my lips.
He doesn’t say “ex”. He prefers “my last girlfriend” because in all reality it very well could be his last girlfriend.
I have no mother or a lover. The woman that kisses me every night sits on the moon at the neck of my bottle.
I will eat your hair, your dead ends, and all things in your way, your anchors. I will mow a path with my teeth and tongue for you and who you choose. (my stomach full of all this and booze.)
For she is the devil, and no one should care if the devil cries.
So sad to see that out of pillow talk that boomed, nothing will bloom.
just to let you know, i'm reading.
ReplyDeleteloveadi.