I was sleeping. My eyes were dark til you woke me, and told me that opening is just the start. It was...
Now I see you, til kingdom come. You're the one I want to see me, for all the stupid shit I've done.
I was going to write about something that's been on my mind for the past couple of weeks, but I won't just yet. Instead, I'm going to write the start to my novel. I've spent so long trying to figure out the right way to start it, and then it hit me yesterday. I'm home alone so I might as well take the opportunity to be left alone with my thoughts. I'm not going to write it out on my typewriter until I get some new ribbon. The condition of my current is poor.
The last time I had a cigarette, the last real time I had one, I was 14. I've had a few in the past 4 years but I've been beyond drunk and never remembered until someone shamed me about it. I promised my mother I wouldn't have another when she caught me. Lately I've never had a bigger urge to start up again. I know it's toxic for my health, it'll stain my teeth, I'll have terrible breath, my lungs will fill with tar, and I'm likely to get cancer of some sort, but I really couldn't care less at this point. I know myself, it won't become a habit; only for when I need to write. I need to fill myself with something toxic before I can purge what's good on the inside. I'm really not in the mood to let my depression take over, even if it's for the sake of writing, like I used to. Things are going swimmingly, and I'd like to keep it that way.