Wasted Dolor

With such essential urgency comes, also, my extreme lack of giving a fuck.

Go ahead, stomp your boots if you must. I won't stop you.

Run those cold hands along that warm need.

The glass will break,

And you will fall.

A collection of daydreams collecting dust while I collect bottles. 

Amber soldiers erect in a line along the windowsill.

What else is there to do with all of your blackouts?

Heartache is just one more checked off box on your list of excuses. 

Except, who really bares the sorrow? 

oh

that's right...

I have to not give a fuck.

This could be a problem.