fucking booze....keeping me awake while the rest of the drunks sleep and dream of being unremarkable. i sit...wake...stumble...feel for a cigarette and then think- drunk and unhappy or just unhappy with a percentage of drunk within me. i'll figure it out...scott you must write to me as phones do neither for both of us. prose is needed. i need a poem or a story something to get my fix, im jonsing and smaking for that hit...dont deny it to me....come rape my cortex. someone rape my mind.