I’m sleeping all day, drinking all night, and getting fucked daily. It’s all so fun when it’s fleeting. Flood my guts in this ghetto hotel. At least it’s not a motel.
As bland as this room is, it’s my safe haven until he grows tired of me. Then I drift off to the next locale, to pass the time until we can do it again. Could you imagine catching me while I’m sleeping in a sleeping bag near you?
Oh, the perils an unconventional lifestyle where a dollar earned is never easy. And yet so easily spent—the mark of every artist. I guess, ain’t nothin’ going on but the rent. Even if I spent it all on a Saturday night.
But something must change. You can’t produce your best writing, obsessing over money.
As I recline in the bathtub, I’m finally alone with my thoughts. The glow of three flickering candles keeps me company. The soothing sounds of Lana Del Rey filled the room like a Chanel fragrance. My safety net is losing its netting. We are going broke again. As the lesson repeats, good finances are essential to any relationship’s success. I weigh the wine in my mind. Should we skip meals or spread them out?
The road to skinny won’t need the fat sucked out.
Our hotel holiday may come to an end. But our regular romps are free and carefree. But there is only so much fucking to pass the time. Sometimes, I’ll rather have the wine.
As I rolled around this tub, the bubbles barely cover my belly. But I couldn’t stomach more stress. So I’ll release every relentless thing.
After I’m clean, I’ll go find a job.