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“Some times you get so alone that it just makes“ is a line by Bukowski I first read over 20 years ago. It spoke to me immediately but I never truly got what he meant. Now that I am sober it makes sense to me now. I no longer feel alone inside of myself. I’m not looking for somewhere or someone to run to. What I have been looking for I found inside of me. It was always there. The more I drank, the more of me was hidden. Until I was unrecognizable to myself.

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You needed at least 3 to really stay alive, he said. Broken glass was perfect in its razor blade geometry A jagged champagne flute sliced the skin at the bar The ravers ran as roaches do at the flick

The garbage we tell ourselves. The mindreading. The self-inflicted verbal lashes to our naked backs. We are the very best at castigating ourselves. When he went so deep inside that he could not get ou

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