Cigarette Burns.
Holidays are a great way to become an Alcoholic.
Holidays, they bring us all together — presents, hugs, conversations, conversations, conversations, gossip, love, more love, too much love, get away from me love, I think we need to draw the line love, know your boundaries love, but most of all give me an excuse to get absolutely blackout punch drunk love.
Cuddle me up in a blanket filled with bourbon, valium, an unlimited supply of cigarettes and shoot me into oblivion.
Hang a “do not disturb, I’m too drunk to pay attention” sign around my neck and send me off into the sky; fucking high.
Let’s share some love, talk about why we only see each other every year only once.
There’s a reason, but we’d rather be drunk to ease into the conversation type of love.
The type of love where I’d rather burn myself with cigarettes rather than listen to Aunt whatshernameagain’s fourth boyfriend’s adventures on Mount fucking Everest; like a give a fuck.
But it’s the month of love! — you asshat, get it together; share some love.
What love? The love that only comes around December, kinda love?
The kinda love where all other months are irrelevant to show support kinda love?
Or the “hey I got a few people you’d love to meet” kinda love.
Leave me in peace, and let me cuddle my blanket as I wrap myself into a burrito kinda love.
Happy Holidays!
