I hate my job. I hate where I live, and I hate myself. I'm drunk and I bring home women much like myself. The alcohol tastes bitter, but the women's lips aren't much better. They both numb the pain, though, but only for a short while. It's never enough.
I hate my father. I hate his stupid family. I hate what he did to my mother. Even though Mom's better now, I know she still feels hurt. She's married now to a good man. I like him, though he's not my father. I wish he was.
I want to get out of where I am. The world is not what it turned out to be. I want to go back and start over. I want to erase it all because the women and liquor haven't done it for me. Even playing the guitar that I used to love so much doesn't excite me anymore. I'm going nowhere.
The women I meet, I pick up in bars. I try to find the loneliness ones so that we can be lonely together. I keep thinking that maybe, maybe one of them could change that. Maybe instead of hopping into the sheets, we could stay up talking. But that's only in the movies, and this world of mine is real.
I don't care about my appearance. I don't care if I barely eat. I don't care if I haven't shaved that morning. I don't care about anything. I only care about when I'll get my next bottle of beer.
So, is this how I'm going to die?