Came back home to Burry Port. Stu brought my motorbike downbut had to leave it in our grans because I was in such a state. Im terrible when left to my own devices. I let too many devils wander along my spine and that leads to the mad fairies pulling my strings and leading me to the trough of alcohol and pills. Don't worry, im not seeing fairies, Im using metaphors and poetical descriptions for everything. It kind of romantices the havoc and ruin but something has to soften the blow of addiction.
Soon i'll be so bloated i'll be able to write these journals with my own blood. Or bile. Whichever looks nice on paper.
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