In the attempts to recreate the scenario, I managed to find a way to consume myself, again, in the debauchery of a simple, four-letter word. It was enough that I couldn't have it, but the constant reopening of the unhealed wound didn't help either. Only idiots gave themselves pain. It's half past seven in the morn and only God knows how I'm still alive. Then again, he makes us believe Tupac is still alive when he has clearly gone defunct. Old President Washington was right. I should have not entangled myself with foreign powers. Especially when they're foreign to the point of no understanding. They say it's temporary; a phase. But down in the Styx, it's starting to feel like the way of life.
