I dont know why

fuck.

I honestly don’t know why I’m writing this.

yes i do - help me.

Someone’s gotta help me.

Dunno if anyone’s going to be reading this shit anyway.
Someone out there must help me - there must be someone out there who will listen.

He’ll know I’m posting this on the web. He won’t care. He knows everything.

screw him

I love the bastard you see. I love him.
We’re close, closer than brothers. Since we were kids.

But this stuff he’s giving me… god I need it so much… it’s so sweet, so very sweet. takes the pain away.

Makes me dream.

Wild, wonderful dreams but I’m still walking, talking.
Not trashed but the dreams come, they take me places.
Everyday he’s giving me a little bit more, just a hit of bliss, sweeter than crack, sweeter than the dragon.
I‘ve tried all the different shit, none of it worked, not for long.
Weed? pills? acid? fuck off. None of it took the pain away like his little witchy bottles. I was strung out too far.

He can do things.
Nobody else would believe me so you won’t either – what’s the word of another shitty little stoner worth? You’d just think it was the dope.

But the thing is I’m no crackhead.
This is real.
That’s right; I’ve seen him do this weird stuff to people.
When I’m straight - right there, right in front of my eyes out in the clubs, out in the street, right in daylight.
It’s magic.

No really. That’s the only thing I can call it. The real deal.
But this shit he’s giving me, its killing.








KILLING ME.