Exhale

The comfort escapes me... even now, sitting at my desk smoking a treasured cigar, I feel it slipping away. There is very little in this world that offers any bit of peace or comfort... all I had left was my cigars. The old means have long vanished... playing music, making music, playing video games, or watching DVDs. At night, all there is to be found are the relentless screams and pleading for death... the imagery of of thrusting broken glass into my throat or hacking off my penis in a fit of self-hatred. I want peace, I want love, I want companionship... I'm just too fucking tired of rotting and inhaling the stale overtones of failure, disdain, and putrid memories. Every night it's the same... hours on end, begging for it to just fucking stop. Then I'll awake after some twisted nightmare and 2 hours of sleep... to curse the sunrise and another day of nothing.