It's going to be one of those nights
Where it hurts to breathe
[again]

And I'm lying through my teeth
Grasping at mirages
With broken fingers and punc.tured lungs

But your like music to my ears
Bearing gifts of false hope and lullabye...

But all good things, must come to an end.

The roach from an oversmoked joint slips from my fingers
The burn doesn't affect the deadened skin covering what can be considered little more then bone these days...

And the empty bottles littering the floor can only  rattle in protest at the slightest move
Encouraging only the deepening of this hole

And looking at you is like

+agony+

From the bottom of a well...

But it's better then nothing at all...