Thursday, June 2, 2011


I'm an anxious mess. An utter disappointment. Cynical and Guilty. Guilty guilty guilty. A heap of lies. A bundle of misgivings and bitter qualms. A troubled cure for a troubled mind at best.
Funny how my state of being became my very being?
I wish I could drug myself and die. Or remain drugged throughout my life. Die painfully, bitterly, as bitter as the most bitter gourd there is. As bitter as a spinster's stark desire. As bitter as the rotten, decaying curtains in a dead man's old chamber. As bitter as the rancid breath of a drunk beggar. As bitter as the pile of sewage collected at the edge of the gutter.

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