To the wild ones I met-
the wild ones never gave a damn about women cause they were already drowning in their own poison. the bottle, the typewriter, the dice, the night, the guitar it all ate them alive and they let it. women want a man who shows up, a man who plays the game halfway sane. the crazy ones don’t show up for anyone, not even for themselves. it’s not hate, it’s not anger. it’s just that their ruin keeps them busy enough. love can’t fix a man who’s married to his own collapse eh!...-R













