…alone with a beer…


…alone with a beer…

by Matthew Brewes on Friday, July 13, 2007 at 11:04pm

…Like it says, I’m alone with a bottle of Molson Canadian, in a quiet, dark house listening to my ipod…that’s it…me, alone with some booze, some tunes and my own head…this is a very dangerous situation…really, I’m locked in this room with my own worst enemy and he’s got this god awful wicked grin on his face and he’s just sharpening his knives and giggling…I think I may be in for a bad night…the really scary thing is I’m sort of watching this go down, like an invisible third spectator in this room, and I know the end to this but I have to watch, can’t intervene and it’s just going to get worse…when it gets like this, when I start in on myself, pulling and poking at old, gangernous wounds, relishing the pain it just doesn’t stop…I live in this world of sharp, jagged guilt, and shame and failure and I just keep cutting myself on the edges because deep down I really want to bleed because that’s the only sign I have left that I’m still alive, that there’s something left in here that has not resigned itself to just dying by inches…this is my life, I can fucking see it stretching cold, hard and grey into the distance, forever and ever until I die…job, family, bills, sleep…repeat in any order until it all just fucking falls down and I find myself sixty five with the only thing I can say about my life is that I once thought I might have something worth saying but I convinced myself that doing this was better…that this life was the sensible thing, was what I wanted all along…it is so fucking sad that I really have become everything I never, ever wanted to be…that I sold out so completely and utterly for almost absolutely nothing at all…I betrayed my passion, my ideals, tried so hard to convince myself of my cynasim until that bitterness is what I’m fucking choking on every day of my miserable existance…and here’s the rub, aye, here’s the rub…I can’t blame anybody but myself…I am here because I, and nobody else talked myself into it…no matter how I try to twist out from under it, it’s my hand digging the rusty blade into my gut and just laughing and laughing and laughing…but hey, who cares…I doubt anybody will even read this, and even if they do, they’re probably in the exact same place and are of no use save as another person who can slowly die with me…goodnight all…sleep tight…

via …alone with a beer….

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