Signing on/coming down

I sit in the angry office filling in pointless form after pointless form, just the same questions over and over again. How is this helping me back to work I wonder? All the while desperately trying to avoid thoughts of the dirty spoon. The air’s so thick and warm in here, I can barely breathe, I’m sure it’s deliberate to keep everyone too sedated and lethargic to complain or be of any real bother; They employ the same tactic in all the banks. The more frustrated I become the more I yearn for that forbidden warmth, that golden sun light that dulls the monotony of life, I am, after all, part of the self medication society. It is only a temporary solution, of course, in the long run I will feel ten times worse. I have danced on the borders of serious drug addiction for more than a decade now, it’s sapped my spirit and burned my soul, my confidence and energy has all but diminished. I shall not enter the kingdom of heaven, Jesus doesn’t want me for a sun beam, I don’t mind though for I rejected him a long time ago. Still this nonsense has to stop. The bags under my eyes are testament to my life style and my body’s giving up on me, maybe it’s time to give the straight life a go? I’ve tried it in the gutter and that hasn’t got me anywhere, except prematurely aged and left with a deep and regretful sense of defeat, there are after all a lot of people who actually enjoy their lives, so why can’t I be one of them? Surely I’m not damaged beyond repair?

For the love of God, can I please have my money now?

February 08