at the bar.
 

I drink down what I'm bottling up,
nonchalant vodka fiend, shots bottomed, "and what?!"
Mood calm, hot as steam inside, but, "I don't give a fuck"s
Get cheers around the room like this mantra is fun...

She won't let me. I hurt. She left me.
Every night she's out, these vows im regretting.
So I creep... hypothetically. TLC's way ahead of me...
But I drink, cuz at least she can't point fingers to get at me.
But fuck it right? There's a few bitches in this bar I could lawyer,
Handle their case, put em on my stand, enjoy the
Curvature of their bodies while I get tsunami'd like japan.
I don't know... but that alone is the notion I can't stand.
If she would just let me know, I'd know, then I'd stop the nightly reprimands.
The caring through swearing, playing with the contents of my pants,
And finally get a piece of strange... maybe from this one bitch off instagram...
Wait... I'm getting a call, "hello?"
"Hey, this is Malcom. Is this xxxxxxx's man?"

That fucking bitch.

Sounds like a drunken rant so misunderstood and full of 'whatevers on my mind is whatevers on my mind because of you', no pointing fingers but this is what it is.

Cool

Dope.

Appreciate the feed guys!

Haha. I liked and related to this stuff you wrote.

weeerrrrddd. And great sig btw.