Sip
I sit
I stand
I attempt
to walk.
I sip
It's bland
I would test it.
I'm quite picky.
The pint is cold
The night is old
And everyone's waddling out
To Vehicles.
And possibly
to their deaths
But more than likely
The Death of someone else
If that were the case, anyway.
But let's not think about that.
No. You don't talk about those things,
It's supposed to be bad form, really.
Ruins the spirit of things.
Don't be that guy.
That guy that
Starts to talk
About
Heavy
Stuff
O'er
The
Tap.
Anyhow,
I'm enjoying this
Maybe a little
XX Much
"Enjoying this too much"
What a loaded statement
This is
No?
I'm among friends
And we're letting things out
And it makes me feel good
To "shout" a little about sum
Thangs. Thanks. Things.
That've been pent.
Bottled up, so to
Say. Interesting,
That thought.
How things
Come un-
bottled
When
You
Sip.
It's all quite healthy
You know.
Therapeutic, really.
Or maybe this depends
on your definition of the
word. That word.
"Healthy"
Hm.
Ah well.
Carry on, then.
Happy "sipping"
Stay safe and smart
And be well
My friends.
Goodnight.
And Cheers!
'Clink'
Truth
Truth.
What is that?
Nothing more than
Something you believe is true
Postulate
A thought
A word
A concept
Convince others
Pound it in their brains
Tell them everyday
Leave no room for other faiths
Think hard
Something can be true
It can also be false
It can be both.
Believe what you believe.
Think what you think.
But what you preach
Others might not agree.
Twenty minutes ago, when the clock struck twelve,
Became the day that three months ago my life was struck with a heavy blow.
Since then my life has been out of control,
And I'm but a lump of flesh, I know, so my wish of floating away will never be so.
That night, ninety days ago, is the first I wished I would truly be the one below.
"When I'm six feet below," people have always joked,
Is now the torture that I will forever know.
My sweetest bubs, Im so scared to show,
To all these extras in my life that I'm no longer whole.
I lie in bed for hours with no sleep to be shown,
For this hard work that living is, can't you help keep me afloat?
You see, now I'm washed up on the shore below,
The one in my dreams that is far below,
Don't you see the jagged rocks, there to cushion my fall? Whether sleeping or waking, life is never worth the weight of my constant choke.
Is this all some kind of shitty joke?