the words dont mean much, but the heat is real. most homes toss this moist heat out as a waste product, not i. i let the humid heavy air fill my home like the stench that comes from a drunken whore. coors light. the memories of what is now a failed relationship. foggy windows. nothing seems to matter these days. work is an annoyance and free time is an eternity of ticks that lead to nothing. sleep offers nothing but scenarios of what might have been. the only solace is the stupor of a drunken existence, even that doesnt last. emotions are the enemy. to be or not to be an asshole, whats my motivation? she did to me what we did to him, i should have seen it coming.