{ }

Yeah. It's gone. I'm pretty sure.

You know that space between "I'm so fucking plastered." and "Fuck that, I hated her anyway. Give me another." ? That. There's no choice or reasoning there, yes? No 'sir. See what I did there? No you don't. YOU do.

And you never realize when or how you got there. Like a walk with a stranger from a crowded street to a dark alley.

Some things are still lurking around. But so does the stink of shit.

Fucked if it's gone.

And fuck you.