xhaleyx

So I was sitting on the ledge, staring down at my half-way smoked cigarette and my half-way drunken beer as I clinched my thighs together to keep from falling, and all I could think was which one of these is going to go first? ...the cigarette, the beer, or me?

I guess that's just my life...barely hanging on, with my vices keeping me teetering from being apart of humanity to letting go. I guess that's my problem, letting go. I can't do it. I should, but I can't...I need to, but I can't.

He stood me up tonight. I made dinner, his favorite... got his favorite beer, and a gift for the road. I wore the dress, and the boots. I looked good, real good... but it's never enough. I am never enough.

I know why the avante-garde drank went out with their apathy and absinthe. I really do. I'm not too far behind. Why I hold on to any stitch of faith in humanity is beyond me. It really is.

Now to finish the night with things that make me happy and yet still sad at the same time, beer and Bukowski, my love. Do tortured souls like you exist anymore? I hope so. I'm holding out for you...I'm clinching tight to the ledge for you. Please show up soon. I don't know if I can hang on much longer...