A Long Way From Hollywood...

I can see her smiling. Smiling at what? I don't know, perhaps she's smiling at my next attempt to make everything better. Fuck you, Hollywood for preying off my addiction to "happy ever after" and "forever". The world's got me bent on my knees in front of a table of narcotics, they're just a little painful to ingest without that sick 'morning after' feeling. It's that thumping in the back of your head you get when you realise that she doesn't quite feel the same way about you. There's many fish in the sea, they say, but a real sailor knows when he's caught beauty...I just don't know if she needs me.

Is there a love that still dreads the day I'm lying dead in a coffin, after a controversial drug overdose? I don't think so, but I love the shit out of her, she's a high priced range of narcotics; highly addictive and the only vice against my cocaine induced dementia and deluded belief that, she's still out there. When the devil and all his salacious beauties are trying to give me head without politely asking (no means no, you know); she'll be there waiting. It may not be obvious, but I want her.

She's the last letter in the alphabet; the last one. The "Z" in my literary archives. In the end, we have nothing but regrets and lot's of sexual frustration, they say. I'm not afraid of dying, but I'm afraid the nosebleeds won't mask the pain of being forgotten. However, it seems better to have lost than to have never had at all, I just wish she knew....