21jun07 People's Republic

healing your heart is a mother of a bitch. wandering through memories and negative feelings, trying to re-wire the synapses that she tore apart can only be marked by the constant need for outside attention and distraction. alcohol gives us neither, but lubricates that process of sliding ever deeper into agony, a caustic abyss of wondering, tormenting yourself over every last molecule of your surroundings with her lovely face, the face that will no longer gaze on you longlingly, but instead will hapr on strange men's stomachs, ever emasculating you into deeper anger, loathesome self hatred, and the feeling that your stomach will explode in a hail of vomit all over the morning paper, all over the crossword puzzle that you wish would distract you from the separation anxiety, the addiction to the way she used to say she loved you. it's all shit, isn't it? we can only persevere. we can only overcome. we can only live on another day.