I fucked up. I dropped out of school to pursue getting wasted. I lost my job, the love of my life, and most of my belongings to substance abuse. I might have cancer, but no health insurance to cover a checkup or surgery. My only talent is songwriting and playing the guitar, but even that doesn't bring me joy anymore. I want to be certain that I will die a painless death, in a warm, safe place, not later down the line, homeless and desperate. All my happiness is behind me, I don't see a light at the end of this tunnel. And the fact that I'm telling faceless dozens about it on an internet forum doesn't exactly bring me peace, either. Seems everyone here is just vying for attention, padding their stories, rehearsing their broken verses. I guess this is my own form of catharsis, to write out how I feel, but people, I used to look down on those who couldn't "pull themselves up by their bootstraps", but wouldn't you know, karma has a great way of making things come full circle, huh? Does someone out there care about a cynical, drug addicted writer? Of course not. That's why Hunter S. killed himself. He didn't have anything left in his life to look forward to, and that's where I am. The best of it all is water under the bridge, all that's left to anticipate is the cold, lonely world we live in.