A piece written in the view and life of a person that is almost entirely opposite of myself.
I remember that time we fucked in the back of your Mustang,
Your arms around me, that cigarette of yours hanging from your lips.
I remember the warmth of your embrace, the smell of ashes and whiskey on your bare skin.
God, we were drunk – and by drunk, I mean two seconds away from heaving up our insides drunk, but I didn’t care. The sex was great. All that really mattered to me.
I remember that time we broke into a grocery store just to steal some over the counter prescriptions, and two bags of nacho cheese Doritos. We already had the munchies, but we needed something for the road, didn’t we?
And then those alarms went off, blaring like the sirens from the ambulance I was in last month because I got so pissed at this fucker who looked at me sideways. I smashed my knuckles into his idiotic jaw so hard that I broke three of my fingers. But shit was it worth it.
Anyway, those alarms were going, and I wasn’t ready to have to deal with the cops (again…)
But we made it out (and made out, plenty, all while passing those pills between each other’s lips), and I was in heaven. Once again. High as a kite. Drunk as a skunk. Deep in you (or you in me, for obvious reasons).
And nothing else mattered – didn’t care that I wasn’t goin’ to college (barely passed high school with my 1.4 GPA for starters), or that I was working at a gas station on the shit side of town, or that all my friends were assholes and cared more than I did, and left me. But I didn’t need ’em. Have myself, and you, and well, the next one who wants to get a little close for comfort, because you’re bound to leave eventually. Doesn’t mean I ain’t gonna appreciate the company while it lasts though – a girl needs her fix.
People are disposable. But alcohol is infinite, my friend, and my liver is a god damned champion. You know what? My liver is the only friend I need…and even when I’m at “strike 3” at the Quik-N-Go for comin’ into work a little too toasty for my boss’ liking, me and my liver will be walking out those doors, jobless, but together.
But the best thing about all this? I didn’t give a shit in the world. When I wasn’t in the backseat of your car at 3:00am enjoying your “company”, I was at home, laying on my couch, a lighter in my left hand, a cigarette in my right, and a roof over my head – and even though it didn’t seem like it, I worked for this place, and didn’t have to deal with anyone else’s “issues” (’cause I lived alone, and intended on keepin’ it that way.)
God why does everyone have so many fucking “issues” – just shut the fuck up, suck the fuck up, and get over yourselves. We all got our issues – and you know, you wouldn’t be so “anxious” and “depressed” about everything if you just let yourself realize you’re already good enough. Jesus christ, I see these kids five-something years younger than me making their own music, art, being on TV, working 50 jobs with a full classload, all while getting in all those “smart” clubs with weird ass greek names because their GPAs are 600.0 outta 4.0. Then they still cry because they ain’t good enough? Man, sometimes, I just wish these idiots would give society the middle finger it deserves, trust me, I’ve already done it.
I’ve spilled way too many alcohol-fueled tears to keep giving a shit, because man, I know how much it hurts – but the older I’ve gotten, the less I care. No use being a sentimental sap. Just screws you over in the end.
And God is there freedom in not caring…it’s something I’d drink to any day.