I'm still not in love and am a real, actual drunk, but now its killing me and I know it, how dramatic. I can physically feel the dents carved out of myself with a blunt chisel glaring like when someone called me creepy as they looked into my glassy eyes bouncing right off so many times a day I'd do anything you asked just to go to sleep. Maybe it's time tomorrow, maybe today, it will keep starting over and over.