(snapshot artifice)

My brain is an air show just waiting to kiss the ground.

I shouldn't be typing. i shouldn't be standing. in all likelihood i shouldn't even be fucking breathing considering how much blood has slipped down my gullet with vodka and whiskey and beer with cocaine to chase the last of those midnight blues away.

Days later still and i can barely stay awake.

It's just a habit though.

One more i can't fucking break.

But there are worse fates. i've seen them. known them. loved them longer than i've ever loved myself and that's just fine because in the end i'll have imagined this life was a better one spent unhealthy.

Even if my blurs, at times, supercede me...