An Addicted Son
Sep 6, 2018 · 2 min read
Sometimes I get lost in nothing. I travel down melancholy, down the same tunnel that Alice traversed. I feel lost. I don’t have a white rabbit to follow. I fear that I can already see my future, or futures in the people around me. The block is indifferent but acts like it cares because it has so many different ways to cull the void, to hold it off, whether it be in waves of liquid courage or by dulling the veins.


