whiskeymonologues:

It’s 3 o’clock and the whiskey is kicking. And fuck if I’m not here sitting, reminiscing.
Not for sordid hopes of rekindling. Not praying salvation for memories dwindling.
Rather, quietly sitting, listening to the distant sounds of settling.

The writing was on the wall for damn near long as I…

Hey this is me! I must have been adequately beguiling in getting them to think my writing has some actual merit. Well that or the sexual favors… Either way, chalking this in the WIN column.