I can see every breath.

A cold day stands before me. Hungover again and I wish everybody just ignores me. Maybe I need a fresh breath of air? I don’t even know I got here, or why, but I don’t think I care. I know nothing in life is fair.

I look at the gray sky and I can’t help but hate everything about me. So good with words but is there a reason to my rhyme? Or maybe a rhyme but no reason? I love San Diego but I always find myself leaving. This time I don’t even know where. I take a drink and ponder if my life would be better elsewhere. Conflicted and confused, God, I hate feeling like this. Maybe I should say “fuck it” and go to Las Vegas?

Then I think about HER.

I want to show her my world, tell her, “here, take this, it’s all of me. My soul was here, but now there’s just a part of me left, see?”

I could tell her why I’m an alcoholic but it could be worse. At least I’m not hooked on meth. Spent a lot of money on the bottle and not much else is left. Oh well, I guess my vice is a way to cope with stress. Even though it will probably bring me to an early death.

Oh no, death?

If I died today would she miss me? Or when we finally meet will she kiss me? Or will she psychologically diss me? Will we talk about what she can do for me or what I can do for her? Will she love me or hate me? I’d try and give her my soul back but what will she take from me… nah, wait. She can’t take back what I don’t have. My soul is long gone. It’s a cold world and I got a naked heart, but why am I so cold with clothes on? I never did get a head start with my heart.

A cold breeze whips across my face and steals my breath. I shutter.

It’s a fucking cold winter when all I want is a February summer. Looking up at the dark clouds wondering if I could ever love her. Even if I could, I’m poor. Busted. Broke. My bank account is a joke. It’s getting worse with every heart beat. I could change my financial outlook but it requires me being a thief. No, not that. I thought I learned from Georgia. I won’t go back to that. Didn’t I promise myself I would turn over a new leaf and yet here I am, still not doin’ that.

Eh, fuck that. My mind starts talking back,

“You are what you are. Come on, don’t you want a car?”

I do. The question of my ethics has always been a question. I’m morally righteous but I don’t pay attention to every lesson. I was always spiritual but never big on religion. I talk to God but I don’t think he ever listened. And here I am thinking about my fucked up cards when I’ve been put in a cell for stealing cars. I’d read my horoscope but I don’t believe in the stars. Is it my destiny to look at the world from the inside of jail-house bars? Or is it my destiny to stumble drunk every night outside of random bars?

“Maybe I can just win the lottery”.

I’m out here all alone talking to myself about my life and the lottery. Psh, my life is a mockery. Like I’m lucky enough to win the lottery? I can barely GET LUCKY trying to find someone to fuck me and yet here I am wondering how much God doesn’t love me. Does he love me enough to give me the financial means to follow my dreams? Hah, not by any means. I shuffle my feet and look down at the hole in my jeans. It’s getting too cold out here and the rain is starting again. I guess I’ll go back in and pretend.

Pretend I’m anyone but me. All it will take is one more drink. Drunk, that’s just what I want to be.