Sugar. you mean cocaine?
Meth is not your friend these days, ol friend.
I’ll take it as it comes and turn away from all false hope and busted knuckles
find some silence and get to sleep.
I use to give advice now I’m just telling lies.
liars are just story tellers for the insane.
they make up shit fast as they can, rolling glory to the promised land
to die in your arms would fulfill my broken heart
and then bust my ego plummeting all the way to the ground,
there was no flight.
and even as tired as I was I refuse to sleep.
I won’t go. never and a day.
past stupid, on thru next day and day after.
I wanted to re-arrange the Isuzu glove box.
before breakfast
I’m only suicidal before breakfast. ya know.
I had a time with you
a time and a half or maybe
two.
double, triple, quad time.
still no sleep. run away from the (allons)manger’
and get to sleep when he comes in riding or dragging the old pale horse. As the real one rode in on a small donkey.

© Love Letters or Suicide Notes 2024