Feeling no pain.
No worries, no drive. No feelings.
I love this shit.
Every four hours,
Popped one yesterday before BJ’s funeral.
Bliss in the midst of so much sorrow, so much pain.
Maybe I should pop more than one.
Two? Three? Four?
Wash it down with some cheap red wine?
It was a pleasure to burn.
I am an invisible man.
I am a sick man.
Probing now… this is real time…
No drive to do anything but work this out.
This is real time…
Sound of buzzing bees. In my head?
I have more than enough shit stashed away
for a rainy day.
Today is not that day.