:: Letter to Myself ::

Let's get fucked up and die....I'm speaking figuratively, of course. Like the last time that I committed suicide...Social suicide. Yeah so I'm already dead, on the inside, but I can still pretend. With my memories and photographs, I've learned to love the lie. I wanna know what it's like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent. I wanna know how it feels to be useful and pertinent and have common sense, yeah. Let me in, let me in to the club cause I wanna belong, and I need to get strong....and if memory serves....I'm addicted to words and they're useless. Let's get fucked up and die. I'm riding hard on the last lines of every lie and the BMX bike of my life is about to explode, I'm about to explode. I'm a mess, I'm a wreck, I am perfect and I have learned to accept: All my problems and short comings, cause I am so visceral yet deeply inept. I want to thank you for being a part of my Forget-Me-Nots and Marigolds, and all the things that don't get old. Is it legal to do this? I surely don't know. It's the only way I have learned to express myself....through other peoples' descriptions of life. I'm afraid I'm alone and entirely useless. Let's get fucked up and die. For the last time with feeling, will try not to smile as we cover our heads and drink heavily into the night, that’s no shock and surprise. I believe that I can overcome this and beat everything in the end but I choose to abuse for the time being...Maybe I'll win, but for now I've decided to die. Brother Soldier you’ve been such a positive influence on my mental frame, if I could ever repay you I would but I'm hard up for cash, and my memory lacks initiative... Goddamn the liquor store's closed, we're so close to scoring. It hurts, it destroys, 'till it kills. I am tired and hungry and totally useless...