|Alcoholic Out of Booze
By Nancy on 07/25/2005
These were the few,
so this is it then,
And again these hardships,
making me nervous this time
and this is it.
And I'm riding six-pack horses these days,
pulling back the riegns, pulling back the tabs, guilty of pride.
And I'm not aware of myself anymore,
thinking about the difficulties I'm having thinking,
just trying to be me,
or someone else,
just trying to be done.
I've vomited my unrealities in a trusting fashion,
I have then pursued them relentlessly.
The main feature is, again, this fucking mess.
Travelling westward and tripping on the east.
A solid reflection of a ghost: my secret,
I want to give this to you,
but I can always, only, ever be me.
I'm wondering if there'll be a change,
my affection remains unwavered,
this feeling I've got,
this feeling I gave you,
and so this is it then.
and I heard that we're done.
I'm sorry that I've nothing to give.
These were frightening times, these;
I've lived them as we all have,
taking hold these trembling idols and thrusting forth my tragic identity:
An unruly mass of a thousand hated things,
a practical stance on a supremely distorted view.
A spectacularly morbid spectacle of all that I have ever known,
and so stands it before me as a shrine,
and so feeds the engulfing flames I provide it.
(suggestions, please! I wrote this very, very wasted, and it makes sense to me -and other drunks- but please critique if any changes should be made! thank you!)
© By Nancy On 7/25/2005 2:48:32 PM