Fit To Be Unfit

Life is for the living, is it not? If it truly is then why am I here? I’m not alive. I’m dead in every sense of the word but one, and that’s final. I am merely a hollow shell of the man I used to be. I’m surviving…..but why? Just because I don’t have the balls to pull the trigger? Possibly. Or am I still here so one day I can be there for the most beautiful, most wonderful collection of energy, spirit, and flesh that I have ever known to be possible, my daughter? This question does more than erk me. I wish I could say it urked me. This question, and the pain I know I am causing this magic creature IS killing me. Make no mistake about that. Not a soul who knows me would argue that. So I sit here and wallow in my own self pity, like a fucking pig in shit, and bitch and moan to a blank screen. Is it an awful thing to do and therefore be? Of course it is. I know I’m awful. And shameless too. I’m also kind but that’s another story. But unfortunately at this moment that’s me, nothing more, nothing less. A man without a soul wanting to be with his daughter. Father’s right’s you say?? HAHA That’s a good one. I’ll try to remember that if I ever do make it to a day where my daughter is old enough to hate me for being the piece of shit her mother says I am. Lets hope I make it that far, because at the moment I think that is almost becoming a suicide note, something scribbled onto paper in vain while I’m deep throating a twelve gauge. The irony? I did have a child with a prostitute and I’m the one who will probably suffer a death by deep throating a tube. Fuckin’ life really has a sick way of showing it’s irony