Tuesday, September 1, 2009


It's come to this...

I fell off the wagon.

I fell off the wagon and hit my head on every board, nut, bolt, and screw on the way down.

I'm smoking again.

I gave in like France in WWII.

No shots were fired, no blood spilled.

I gazed upon my ex and embraced her as if we'd never parted.

You may now call me the nicotine slut.

I call it stress.

You call it an excuse.

I say you're right.

Either way, it's a crutch, and it's jammed up into my armpit nice and hard.