Self-destruction...

...you're headed for self-destruction...

No shit sherlock.

Nostalgia be damned, I'm not going back to that mu'fucka.

I've deleted his chirp number from my phones, and I've re-deleted his house and cell numbers as well. I was there for him when his homie got shot. I did my good deed. If the numbers ain't in there, I can't call.

Especially since I never memorized them... always took it for granted they'd be programmed in my phone(s).

I can't let this happen to myself. I can't willingly walk back into bullshit. I refuse to set myself up like that. I can do bad all by myself, and although there was so much good in him, he brought the pain too.

I'm still at work too. I'm not even so sure I have to be. I mean, I coulda finished this shit long time ago. But I guess I needed time to completely sort shit out in my mind before I walked up into the house of the all knowing negroes.

Damn. I'm starting to feel rather puke-ish. That ain't so good. Lemme finish working so I can take my suddenly ill ass home.