Journal 2

Damn those dog farts stink!

Almost as bad as my dad’s coffee breath in church.

Rancid, dude.

But at least they’re both honest.

I wonder if my soul stinks as much.

Because as of late, I haven’t been honest with myself.

I go back and forth between pain and pleasure.

Thinking of my dad…

Buy a donut.

Thinking of my mom…

Buy a dress.

Escape escape escape.

Distract distract distract.

It’s so easy to pretend it’s alright.

I’m across the world from them.

They can’t get me here.

But my credit card says otherwise.

I am buying to distract myself from my stench.

Because this wound is festering, brother.

Yet I just keep slapping band aids on it.

Except today.

Today I’m getting a whiff of its misery and I’m not pulling back.

I’m not pulling back today because yesterday I promised I wouldn’t.

So here I am.

Raw.

Open.

And honest.