smelling of the night you so desparately try and lose yourself into, you try and escape into it, now your bed sheets are in on it, the smell, that smell, smelling like that smell that you dont wanna smell. the memories are laced with nicotine and tar, jack daniels and lager, jogging your memory harder and harder, and when you close your heads and lie on your bed, the best part of your night comes, the dream less sleep. and in this sleep of an ebony blanket we find peace through questionable means, illicit materials craft things more beautiful and pure than we ever 'thought' possible.
the sweetest part is the dreamless sleep. shot after shot, drink after drink that push you towards the bathroom sink, hands on the porcelain, shaky foundation, questioning life and all its creations, the thoughts, the patterns, why were in the situation were in, then back out the doors, lumbering to indulge our next greatest sin. You're moving is slowed, your mind gets off the gas, and stops you from recounting that painful past - everyone's hardships go out the door and the easiest solution is to pour some more.
- spoken like an alcoholic, man
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