One eye closed, still seeing double.

I wake up scared, still wearing pants. My phone isn’t charging…fuck, What did I do last night? My nightstand has an empty water bottle and a half full glass of…something. I hold the glass up to take a deep sip, it may as well be rubbing alcohol. I turn the living room light out and plug in my phone.

I sit outside, the sun is harsh, and I’ve only got two smokes left. I return to my phone after a half hour. Was I in a mood last night? I remember everything up until…oh I started listening to Beth Hart at 3 am-that’s not a good sign.

Outgoing texts:


“Hey, how yah been?”

“…Hope you’re well.”

“iive ben good, lisstebn to this song!!”

Ashamed, I turn my phone off. I’ll just delete these later, hopefully they’ll just forget I said anything. I want to just disappear for another few years.

Apparently ol’ One-Eye’d Marla isn’t as independent as she wants to be.

I hate being this weak, but god damn I hate being sober. The reflection looks like Alice fucking Cooper, I close one eye as two look back at me. Shower beer for breakfast, with a side of self-loathing.

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