I want to drink whiskey -lots of it- just because I know I shouldn’t. I want to walk into a photograph; where is it? Ireland? I don’t care as long as it isn’t here. I want to fade away so that no one notices I’m gone until it’s too late. I want my thoughts to be on mute. I want to fuck my way out of this fog. I want to be born again. I want to grow my hair long enough to hide behind. I want someone to read my eyes, not my words. I want someone to be these words.