What I Miss

I miss the days I would wander round an empty house aimlessly, crying my little heart out. I might have had money in the bank, but it didn't even enter my head to buy a binge round. I might have looked old enough for alcohol, but using that wasn't a shadow of an option. I remember the desperation, what the fuck am I going to do now, I feel like I have reached the end, and my body respected that, it cried for that, it wailed and convulsed and dribbled for that. Now I just have a bunch of poor substitutes. And I miss having nothing. I miss having nothing but the fluids my body would afford me. And maybe it left some scars. But I feel like I'm making bigger ones now. They're just not visible to the public eye. Woop di do.