A Tired a Sleep Can’t Fix

The mind is a blank page, so white and pure that blood would excite its freshness. I have the opportunity to get drunk, but it’s far too late. I thought perhaps I’ll drink tomorrow; perhaps, I won’t drink again. I don’t want to drink away the part of the day that I can’t sleep away. Maybe in winter that might be acceptable, but not now — not when opportunities are blossoming before my eyes. This interview is my golden ticket into stability and my overall livelihood. At least I don’t feel broken; I feel sort of stretched thin, but I’ve been thinner before. I need to cry and let out my angst, but I  only cry when I’m drunk, and I am not sure when that will be. I say I love to be alone; though, boy does it wear on my mind when I’m the only one awake on a Saturday night. I’m tired, the kind of tired sleep can’t fix; and, I’m hungry, the kind of hunger food just can’t satisfy.

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