A/N: This is entirely fictional. Seriously. Has anyone else ever read Big Sur by Jack Kerouac? The ending is disturbing. Really, really disturbing. So... Yep.

At any rate, I'm going to Oregon for a couple of weeks and won't have internet.. It's not like I'm on very much anyway... Love to all.

I keep my room cold when I sleep. I know you’re freezin’ your ass and don’t understand

But sweetheart, I’m alright. A thin blanket and my own heat, I keep my feet chilled and

My face on a flannel pillow. It goes this way when I can’t even think. You’re sitting in

That corner chair drinking what I’ve taken too much of and saying again and again that

“You’re just tired. So am I. We can sleep forever, together.” No, no, honey, Put that

Bottle away, set that razor down.

Just give me a minute to get clean.

Well, you thought this love affair would save you, didn’t you? You thought that all your

Exes would forget your phone number, but you haven’t forgotten their faces, and what

Am I to you? You’ve got your pretty boy to follow you around, but you’ve been digging

Graves for him, graves I’ve filled with bottles. You say you aren’t crazy when I ask but

Now you’ve got that glint in your eyes, the glint I’ve seen in the man you love and ain’t

He a kick? But he won’t return the favor, darling. I’m all you’ve got but you’re gonna

Have to wait a minute. Let me get clean.

Sweetheart, sweetheart, why do you talk the way you do? What did they put in my food?

All I can trust is the alcohol, but it’s so sweet it makes me sick (god damn, I’m so, so

Sick) and they say I need to eat but food won’t let me sleep. Yes, sweetheart, I want to

Sleep, but I don’t want to die. And neither do you. Just set the pistol aside and lay

Those pills back in their bottle. They’re used to cure sickness and I’m the only one that

Can claim to be ill, even if you told me that we all have my disease, some of us just

Hide it better. I’ve never been one for hiding. I’m one to run away, but now I can’t

Even stand. I can’t even sit up without trembling so damn bad and I think my teeth are

Rotting out of my mouth and my tongue will fall off but you say that’s paranoia well

What’s your diagnosis? Digging graves… deadDeadDEAD. You’re waiting, aren’t

You? Waiting for me to die so you can have some reason to head down to those

Waves and wander out like you tried before. ‘There goes that nut,’ I thought.

No, darling. Your shoelace won’t make a noose.

I wish I could tell you all this but I can’t even hardly raise my hand or croak out “stop.”

You want me to come love you, but you’ll have to do the work, because I’m in no shape

For any kind of serious physical exertion, and loving you is like a death march.

Hold on, babe. Just hold on a little longer and vanish when I can’t see you. I’m going

Home, honey, if it’s the last thing I do. At this rate, it may be. I’ve seen so much that

Isn’t so and won’t be so in these terrors, sleepless nights and now I’m just cement

A corpse. If you wanted, you could say you thought I died. You could bury me in

The garden. Like you will with your boy. Your boy hates me and I hate him but

Death is not a reward or a maternal instinct. So set all those suicide tools aside and

Wait a minute.

Just let me get clean.

I want to kiss you goodbye with lips that aren’t a wino’s.