Sip it.  It’s hot.  The warm brown liquid.  It trickles.  
Down
     your
          sweet
                delicate
                         neck.
Feel it heat your body.  Stomach sunrise.  Don’t burn your tongue.  Blood vessels numbed.  Lasts for days.  Can’t taste a thing.  So irritating.  Worth more than gold, once.

He thinks I want him.  Let him think it for now.  Can’t do any harm.  He’s been feeling shitty for a while.  I’ll keep brightening his days.   Eventually he won’t need me anymore.  We’ll both be happy.  Happiness, happiness, the greatest gift that I possess.  I’m already happy.  Always happy.  Positive thinking.  Nothing’s ever wrong.  Always right.  Always look on the bright side of life.  Clichés.  Crying doesn’t help in such matters.  Gains nothing.  Zero.  Zilch.  Doesn’t make you feel better.  Myth.  Suck it up.  Stiff upper lip.  That’s how you deal with this shit.  Wipe your eyes.  Wash your face.  Stand up straight.  You’ll be fine.

Write stories.  Make children laugh.  Sleep.  Dreams.  Monsters hide under the bed.  Darkest corners.  Waiting to grab you.  Big hairy green arms.  Talons.  Nightmares.   Jump out of bed.  They can’t reach if you jump far enough.  Sleep in the middle of your bed.  Their elbows get stuck at the sides.  Safe.  Dirty beasts.  Favourite tales.  Fables.  Legends.  Sweet dreams.  I love you.  I love you too.

Smoke.  Awful tobacco.  Cheapest you can find.  Feels like cardboard.  Tastes like mud.  I’ve never tasted mud.  Don’t bother.  It’s shit.

                      Smoke.
                     Smoke.
                    Smoke.
Smoke.Smoke.Smoke.Smoke.Smoke.  
Smoke.Smoke.Smoke.Smoke.Smoke.      

Breathe it in.  Fill your lungs.  Deep breaths.  No coughing.

Only.
Pussies.
Cough.

This stuff is terrible though.  Disgusting habit.  Filthy addiction.  Brownfinger.  Keep rolling.   Push it down.  Wrap the paper around.  Lick.  That’s it.  Not bad for the first try.   Practise makes perfect.  That’s bullshit too.

Perfection doesn’t exist.  It can’t.  Boring.  What’s your flaw?  You must have one.  Can’t be perfect.   Too good to be true.  Your imperfections are perfect.  Who says that?  Cheese-o-rama.  Romance is dead, they say.  I agree.  People just want to fuck.  Let them.   It’s fun.

Don’t offend.  Mind your manners.  Don’t swear.  Be nice.  Mind your P’s and Q’s.  Open doors.  Always smile.  Behave.  Obey the rules.  It’s easy.  Don’t rebel.  There’s really no need.  Everything you could want is here.  In this box.  This tiny rosewood box.  Contains your soul.  Do we have souls?  What do they look like?  What do they smell like?  Yours smells bad.  Really bad.  Bog of Eternal Stench.

Make time for friends.  Only the good ones.  Let the rest fuck themselves.  Before they fuck you.  All kinds of problems.  Don’t do it.  I mean it.  Don’t.  If you do, use condoms.  They could be diseased.  Nasty.  Don’t want that.  Not at all.  Be ashamed.  You misbehaved.  Again.  Hang your head.   Hang yourself.  No, not really.  Suicide is against the law.  So are drugs.  Both are an escape.  Laws are there to trap you.  For good reason.  We need to be trapped.  We need our wings clipped.  No soaring for us.  No flying.  That’s why we need the drugs.  To fly.  To soar.  Freedom.

        












                                                                         But please.  Whatever you do.  Don’t swear.