Destroying myself one breath at a time.

Twenty Seven

I could be dying but pouring down a glass of bacardi down the toilet isn’t about to change anything.

Don’t panic, I’m not gonna do that. Waste the bacardi, i mean.

There was a time, when i used to write every-day, but then there was also a time, when i pretended to care about everything everyone, Now look, where has that got me?

Sometimes, i think that the best days of my life were when i was an asshole, but then how do i explain all the guilt? The header says “guilty narrative” for fuck’s sake, who am i fooling?

The best days are yet to come.  The best days could already be here. I love my wife. Now read them in the same breadth.

This is it kids, cash in those chips! There may not be a next time.

I’m about to bring some chaos up in this bitch.


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