pet fish

we all live a life we do not like or are
proud of
or have a stability on
and that’s alright;
hell, that’s
ok.

my pet fish, Eugene,
may be my only company, and fuck
he knows it. he drinks
every once in while when I’m at the
bottle.

he gets it;
we
both understand.

for example, if I can drawn such
a fucking thing,
me:

I’ve cheated on the same woman for almost 7 years, man;
she’s taken shit after shit from me and
never done wrong
to me.

I drink at night while under medication
and sometimes
it feels good knowing I’ve
got a peace from
the walls.

as for now,
yeah, I’ve
cheated on my
girlfriend.

she lies in bed, as I type
this, and she watches the same
television channels
since last year
and she says the same things
with that
same mouth and
those same eyes
keep looking at me at night
before she leaves my apartment.

she loves me,
god damn it. loves me more
than
I
love
me.

alright?

alright.

and I’m not fond of what I’ve done,
and the lives I’ve manipulated in order to get
my way or
the words I’ve made up in
order to keep a piece of me
here, with ya’ll
with God
with
his FUCKING
christ.

no. I’m not.
I’m a
mess.

and that’s alright;
hell,
that’s ok.

Eugene has yet to die
and
I’m
glad
he
stuck
for the show.