Confession Session
Potatoesmydarlin
The echoes of a past sinful life still lingers, still has its mark carved on the soul. It stays just like the bitter taste of liquor, the burning in the throats.
The present remains between a past too heavy to carry and a future too distant to grasp, drowning in the warmth of something deeper than a silent loss.
Hums of past stories and fleeting memories, the sounds of tales that once had been told.
May the night stretch a little longer, may the pain blur a little more ...
Please,
Pour me a glass of whiskey, let me loose myself, perhaps, i'd never find a way back home...
⚠️ Harsh words, maybe?
⚠️ Bad English
⚠️ Blood