This here’s a true story.
The moment I realized what rock bottom looked like as I barreled from above.
And tried to hit the brakes but just wasn’t strong enough.
I wasted drunken moments counting lighters scattered around, at least ten collected in my dead flower jar.
Then the music stopped and that moment of eerie silence …
Right before girls screaming and wild stampeding.
“There’s a boy on the bedroom floor. There’s a boy dying through that door.”
In my apartment.
High on my drugs.
Drunk on my liquor.
I wasted moments counting lighters … I spent seconds wishing on stars.
“I write because these stories in my head have to go somewhere.” – the author
