Loathing la vida loca

I’m on holiday, the memos gone and the planes left now its time to get drunk on Warren Zevon and high on meaningful prose I bang out whilst I watch a loved one swim, the only happiness I’ve had in a long time and in truth the only happiness you’ll ever need. Take that from someone who knows. Hell love and hapiness are too rare a word to use without the hint of divorce involved, sex is a word that we use to show faux, fucked up, crazy, hellish love that we have created to hide the loss of the one, well that and whiskey, but as with the morning after the sex along with the realization that you’re not as available as you were the night before, then the perpetual hangover with the inability to type out anything barely sensical without smashing you’re computer up as the doggone bar girl rings once again wondering when you’re gonna meet the parents and the hint to what ring she wants in the fucked up future. Whilst the one wanders and you drink, so fuck it all, go find that one who stole you’re heart and put your words on the paper, she might deserve better but you probably don’t. 

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