It's raining outside, finally.
I'm about to make some coffee and smoke a cigarette outside. Yes, I know. I started up again. What else do I have left to do?
I don't know, Jesse. Is this right?
Not only do I feel guilty that my eyes are wondering, but I feel guilty for my son...
Desperate words are frail.
Still they last forever
in the cold January winds.
Daddy's playing games.
Don't worry,
I won't let you forget.
Baby's crying shame,
I am guilty,
A prisoner of regret.
4:31 p.m. - 2003-01-10
Recent entries:
you have arrived at your destination - 2015-09-03
Little Black Book - 2015-08-03
happiness. - 2015-06-18
Quiet riot. - 2014-01-08
Note to self. - 2014-01-02
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