That was 13 days

What a long time to go without a companion. Try 13 days without your life line. What’s that coal miner gonna do without his Marlboros; that secretary without her little latte mocha shit; the businessman wannabe tycoon without his little bitch whore? I fought in Vietnam damn you! I still see them VC coming every which way. I just pulled a leech out my asshole the other night, you’re sitting in it. I’ve sat here all night long rustling with the bed sheets, tossing the pillow on the ground. The bottles topple but none break. I don’t know myself. I mean to say that what I’m saying here is or may completely be the other guy talking. If you wanted my real opinion, you should have asked me 45 minutes ago before I took a little of that there on the counter. I just feel better mixing a gin and sinking into oblivion. And yeah, I took that from a song. What you gonna do, sue me? I got lawyers, I know Jews. Wait, wait I’ll stop myself before I go Mel Gibson in this bitch. Oh, great, another light bulb to change. Wait, wait, wait… that missing light is perfect; it adds to the, er, my ambiance.

Oh, that? That’s just nothing; I’ll scratch it until it stops bleeding and dries. It doesn’t hurt now, no, not with this. This thing will heal but my heart wont. Not after what she did. Damn, it’s cold in here. Give me back my sweatshirt you. Who authorized you to take it from my cold hands?

Rachel gave me this in ’97. It’s the only thing I have in my life.

This is sum vodka, don’t ask me the name. It goes down like hose water at this point. I’d drink my own piss it’s so full of vodka sometimes. But whatever’s on hand, I’ll do it, I’m not picky. I even go to large events where people are jumping and hootin. I go round and take swigs from left over cups, jugs. And people look it me, pierce my hairy battered face with their utter disgust for drunkards. I was productive, was.

Positivity is baby food they feed you at all ages. Spit it out you dumbass sonomabitch! No, I don’t want no cup, pass the whole fucking thing.

The feeling in my head right now is pure devastation; it’s a level 8 Tasmanian whirlwind. Two linebackers hit me, one train knocked me east and a police man batoned me so much I’ve had broken ribs for two weeks.

These 13 days I’ve grinded my teeth and my insides turned. I banged my skull against this wall. Those are the dents from two times ago, I use the same spot. I think ahead. Ah-ha! Hell, I haven’t eaten in a few days. I don’t listen to those growls anymore. I just bathe in this chair and let the rum, whiskey take my soul.

I used to scream in terrors. And wake up in the middle of the night and hurl. Cried too. But I ain’t no fucking frilly sissy coward bitch who slits his wrists, ties a noose or re-enlists into this war. I’ll drink 'til my liver bursts and the whole world sees the mess I’ve made of myself. Do you know I was in the back of Dave’s Market when I first felt this rush. Never did quite stop.

I got kids. A mother, God rest her soul, and well—I won’t mention him. He can go to hell. You got a light?

I felt like I was Kennedy in these last 13 day like that crisis thingy with them commies. People’s lives were on the line. I was even ready to go under my bed. Go to the closet. Pull out… yeah, that. That right there was to cover the windows. I ran out of nails so I was dealt those cards, man. Some get lucky, some get pickles.

I’m not gonna tell you a god damned thing! How I got to this self is my fucking business. Tell them to throw those sympathy cards and union stickers in the trash. What are you still doing here? Get the fuck out of my house, go! I want to be alone.