Inebriation

I wake up with sore arms I cannot lift, from fighting whatever I was last night. I don't feel very well with myself. People as a sickness. Starbucks as medicine. It's easier to feel worthless when you're lying in the dark and someone outside your room yells bitch and throws things at your bedroom. You get ready for work, and to step outside into the world, you wonder what it was that was thrown at your door. Rocks, it was rocks. You drink your tea and try to figure out how to blur your days together, every day feels like its very own and you can't live through a year like that. You think of a way.