Again (again) from Sleazeball Ballet by Balls Capone

He's bored. Stuck inside and watched everything there is, watching old Star Trek episodes for the millionth time, kinda drunk and drifting in and out of consciousness in a dirty motel room. His head hurts, his neck aches, and he wants, but he doesn't know what he wants. He just wants. His thoughts are empty of meaning, he can't believe in anything, his life is like the low ever slowing hum of a crusty used vibrator slowly running out of batteries under the messy bed. There are pills a plenty to take, there is more and more booze, he seems to have it all at his fingertips, but he doesn't ever seem satisfied, he always wants more and more, it's not enough, nothing is ever enough for him. He can't take enough drugs, he can't destroy enough or cause enough pain, or drink, or fuck enough to ever fill the constantly consuming black hole inside of him. it is winning and he knows it. He has no idea who he is, nor will he ever, it's all made up. He will never willingly let you leave, that would be a failure on his part. He'll burn the joint down before he admits to being wrong. No one is watching anyway, so what does it matter.

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