This particular writer drinks and falls apart every other night of the week – he is otherworldly in a manner he never, ever wished for
These half-cracked beers – with soothing suds on – will continue to sneer in his every utter direction, the discretion is all consuming
How do you build a bridge when there is no such thing in the whole wide world about to seemingly occur on out there
He tries to smile, reeling and peeling these fair hollow walls of his manic mind for some memory or another – no-one has ever been so disgustingly smothered, worn out entirely in all of their life
He touches his emptied wallet and takes out a undeniable knife – prepared to end what’s all too ironic right about now when it comes to tasteful’s sake – seeing as the taste will never again get to be so very bitter

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