i dreamed i saw phil oaks last night

delusional. to the point of misunderstanding.. she lacks sleep. her eyelids, puffy and red, weigh more than the last time she remembered them. could be the drugs? the booze? more than likely was. she had found his bottle of vicodine kept in the back of the closet chest (right next to the pot). both his. in turn both hers.

lacking reluctance she popped the pills that had once made her head spin. it didnt matter. the side effects were the point. get fucked up. feel fucked up. the point of the pot, the point of the booze, and the point of the prescriptions -taken,of course, in lethal doses.

he still hasnt come home.