Miserably drunk, I wring myself out onto the sacrifice of page. Of words strewn without thought onto the screen. If only I had something to offer. If only my life were as simple to describe as the slow deteriorating fabric of jeans sent once too many times through the dryer.

Without anyone to call to say one damn thing that might be of any significance to anyone at all.

Damn.

I love you.
God.
I do.

[Fuck.
Squared.
And then some.]