Last Christmas

Last Christmas I fucked up, didn’t I? I left for 20 hours at a time, I left to get money and to drink and to be with people who just don’t give a shit. And I left one time, didn’t I – only to get beaten and bruised and left all used and I still cry, I do. Daily if I hear an accent or feel a shiver that makes me remember, I die. I fucked it up, I let writing and reading slide and I let myself leave. This Christmas I swear I am there – from November til January I am here. I am writing and reading again, I am safe again. Lover and family, I won’t abandon.

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