The dehydrated working class poet. Not afraid to admit I'm wrong. Just hard being wrong for so long.
Sunday, 12 April 2015
a history of loneliness
Sometimes even dreamers have to wake up, but when you can't sleep it's hard to get up. So another night and it's anyone's guess, less sleep equals more stress and even the best memories seem so far away and tainted with regret. But such is life it's my bed and i made it.
I like dancein on tables and gettin drunk, drunk enought to fall and stumble, to know im lost and feel its ok to mumble. time takes to long so im tryin to express how i feel. but the question is always there is any of this real?
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