There’s something admirable about it. The extent of actions
and the pitiless judgement we examined it with. We get fuckin’ blazin then
start again the next day. Nothing to show for it other than bein’ fuckin’
human.
We drank till the sun came up and we blacked out. Strewn
bodies across the living room floor.
Flesh and bone decoration while our livers deal with the toxins. Nowhere
I’d rather be. No other way I’d rather be.
It will kill me.
Eventually. But the point is in the act, not the aftermath.
True love and true loss is somewhere between the stupor. It is a beautiful mess
we create for ourselves.
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