I’m sitting in my four walled cage by the bath tub, smoking. I can’t smoke in the house, thus I don’t write. I smoke when I write so I’m writing on my fucking phone. Whatever.

I question my choice to get married. Her behavior on our Vegas trip should have been a fucking clue but I tend to fold when faced with a tantrum. My handicap I guess. I also should have been aware of the fact that she lied to my face and in turn got defensive rather than apologizing. Like it’s my fault I caught her in the lie.

I should have waited for … Whatever.

I signed the dotted line so I’ll ride this out until I off myself


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