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I'm so god damn tired, help me tip this can of gasoline.

We’ll test the waves with our toes as it runs rivulets, sets loose rockets and burns through my bones.

I’ll stop by the midnight market and buy sixteen ounces of Canada Dry to mix with the half bottle of whiskey I’ve got in the closet.

And we’ll split the last three Prozacs and plan to live out two weeks of side effects and best guesses, licking salt, iron and mistakes off each other's

knuckles