I think that sleeping with charles bukowski would bring me out of this funk. Unfortunately, he's dead and decayed and disgusting and rotting and repulsive.
I'm lonely, and I'm a fool. I love a man who is 31 and acts like a bipolar teenager in a drunken rage most of the time. He's told me to fuck off and lose his phone number again. The reason? I went out to my car to get a tampon before I left and he says that made him late for work. I thought the fact that he slept for an hour after his alarm went off had something to do with it...but apparently it was just that 45 seconds I was shoving a phallic cotten object up into my vagina.
He's crazy. And it's over. Again.
I'm lonely. I want wine, and love. Or at least whiskey and companionship. What I have is listerine and a sleeping dog.
And 2 novels written by a dead man.
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