Sinking down, I find myself reveling in Nameless Alice and not Guilt Trip. What is this transgression I find here? No, my wire tapped corpse must be wrong.

"Maybe the entirety of existence isn't out to get you after all," he whispers to me like so many Nathaniel Fishers.

No, couldn't be. The very pebbles of sand have always appeared as if they exist only to bring me pain, how could that change now?

The phantoms laugh and so do I as I pop a second cigarette into my mouth. None of it makes sense, and I don't care. Even as my reflection slides its snide smile into me, I just can't hate it. I'm all alone, but the music is enough for me to sit here and know I won't be soon.

This optimism is toxic, and my teeth chatter to its effect. Tomorrow is without any loan of outcome and I know my name is ****.

Buddy boy, it's gonna all be alright.

Destroy Once Done