A Llama Iconic Ho
You’re an excellent writer…
I’m a fraud.
If I were any good I wouldn’t be here. Hiding on the Internet. Hiding my name and my face. I’m no writer. I’m a con artist. I show you a little something, a bit of sparkle. You may think you’ve seen gold, but trust me. There was nothing there.
Your stories touch people…
Do they? I don’t know that they do. Do you really think I’m trying to touch people? Do you think my goals are so lofty? They are not. They cannot be. I’m a drunk.
But you quit drinking years ago…
And you would think that would make the difference. I thought so too. But look at me. Really look. Don’t be fooled by all the flashy distractions. I’m a drunk. I need.
I need to be told that I’m great. I need to be told that I not just a pathetic shell of man, going through the motions. No substance, barely any style. I need so much. I used to look in a bottle. As many bottles as it took. Now where do I look? Now where are the answers. Now how will I face the world. I may be sober, but I’ve lost best friend.
You have lots of friends people care about you…
How could you understand? How can you stand there and think that you know about my friends? They pale in comparison to the friend I walked away from. We had been through so much. Through hell. He never left me, not for a second. When all else was gone, I knew I could turn to him. My priest. My demon. You lifted me up. You kicked me when I was down. You were a liar. You led me down the wrong path so many times. But you never abandoned me. You were there when every one else turned away. When everyone else was unable to watch me destroy everything around me. You were there. And to a drunk, that matters more. Just be there. No matter what. No matter what I do or say. But he was poison. Sure death. So I walked away.
It was good to walk away…
Was it? The problems still remain. The needs. The doubts. The fears. The Darkness. They remain. How can I face them with out my friend. Without my bottle.
I’m damned. There is no answer for this.
If I drink I will die.
When I don’t, I’m not alive.
A shell. A fake. A fraud.
So I sell my goods.
Look at me, I’m a writer.
Look at me, I have something to say.
Look at me, I matter.
Maybe if enough of you look, I’ll feel alive again.
Did you see that… it’s a sparkle. Maybe it’s gold.
look at me please just look just for a moment…
but never trust a drunk.