It's an odd feeling, this sobriety as they call it.
Nothing really sobering about it.
I feel lost and trapped with my own thoughts.
I feel that any crazy thing that has ever crossed my mind was, in deed, crazy.
I feel that maybe my true muse was alcohol.
Or maybe you're my true muse after all.
I miss your face. I miss your skin on mine. As many tears as I have shed behind you, I must say I miss being able to cry over something other than you.
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