what's mined is your's.

only endless alcohol and the need to drive to escape my mind keep the mine from collapsing. my maze of tunnels just keeps getting deeper. i've never been one for good timing.

resurrect me

this place is suffocating me and i'm going numb from feeling nothing but cold inside. there's nothing left inside my lungs. i need to be resuscitated.

it's really not over yet. one hundred different couches, the blue-grey of early morning, the taste of sobering up, and birds replacing bugs as white noise are the only constants in my life anymore. somehow, it's never all been as difficult as this.