authors tell me "survive, then write. embrace odd things as they come." drinking nightly, headlights blind me. no arms, blackout, down i go. now i wish i could wave goodbye. wish i could wave goodbye to you. without lights this is no good. without lights you look just like a statue. shoulders divide over concrete, shirt sleeves embrace new red stains. doctors believe they know relief, how well do they cope with pain? so i'm still alive and i'm slightly disappointed, there's little to be said about simply surviving. hemingway drank and somehow found his inspiration. alcohol has drowned my clarity.
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