Sorrow drips into your heart through a pin-hole, like a faucet that leaks, and there is comfort in the sound. But while you debate half-empty or half-full it slowly rises: your love is gonna drown.
Straddling the fence again, so to speak. Have been in withdrawal from missing two days worth of Venlafaxine again. I don't mean to run out without having purchased more, or to forget to take the little miscreant bastards, I just do. My memory is so sloppy that I just can't seem to hard wire my brain to take them like clockwork. Ah, well, no matter. The vomiting has ceased because I found a half-empty packet in the pocket of my bag. Luck.
It is far too late for my brain to be functioning properly, so I am off. Fly-by-night me?
Who was the first lover to ever make you cry? Why did you let them?
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