I learned not to drink with Ambien one night. I woke up in Gresham with a broken arm. Cozy. Fucked, I know.

I’d say there are twelve steps down to the basement, but I only take three to get there. I take the back door.

The rest, I contest, are too steep.

“I am Ian. I am Ian. I am Iam,” I keep sayin’.

I escaped to the basement. Rock bottom. I wasn’t buying any anymore.

Only what I had left over. The older stuff. That honey bourbon, from when… 

With Penny, When I was making it.

But when it’s over it’s over..

Good, good

Good, good

Good will never be enough, Simon.

Good, good.

I was looking at our fingertips, Simon. Do know what I saw?

You will


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s