At some point it has to stop.
Whether it's buried in a bottle of good ol' Jack, or in a pool of the green dollar filth.
It just has to.
The line of good and bad tends to blur at times.
Distinctions decay, the morality baiting-mothers become the ink I scrub away every night,
and the thoughts in this here head explode.
Do you know what it is like to scream in space?
Do you know what it is like to scream the volume afforded by sound, through 26 letters?
Do you know what it is like to scream at a wall?
It is suffocating. It feels like sucking in oxygen and choking on venom.
