wander through the empty house, stoned as hell. most nights, this happens. doctor said to try and break the habit of picking up the phone this late, just to know yr all surviving. every time, i miss the sound of typing.
i'll be here another year. the same as always since you disappeared.
kids will still sometimes stop by. i'm surprised you still get visits. it's not quite like our gang of nine, but what is? (what is? what is?). if they need a place to sleep, i've got vacancies to offer. i'll make them all my brand new sons and daughters.
but: when it's getting late, i'm never sure. draw the blinds and barricade the door.
mindless tasks and time zone math. i wade through jailbird as the hours pass. i can't sleep; i can't leave; i can't move without them hearing me.
found a way to fix me up. every sunday, i get better. i'll take a match to every one of yr letters.
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