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Oi, Killer

Every day there was a new found nothingness. Another seat at another bar, another drink downed, another push further into the unreal. This is suicide he thought, and wasn't too unhappy with that. I'm better than this. I'm too good for this. Shit. The words of the all-American anthem master filled him: I was not born to live to die. His head was buzzing with guitars. His veins were blueing with overuse. His lips were bleeding with frustration. His heart was packing its bags. It's gonna run away, gonna get away, gonna make tail and start again. A pull of whisky splashed into his glass, he looked up without lifting his head. Every day, no, every drink there was a new found nothingness.

 

"Oi, Killer!"

14" x 14"
acrylic on canvas
13 February, 2008
all rights reserved

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