on drinking. 

what’s the purpose

of dying so slowly? 

sipping life,

a summer cordial,

the bottom of the wine bottle,

all the alcohol references for the end

when you realize you can’t drink. 

get drunk in your sleep. 

it’s all like sleeping anyway:

where did that money go?

what did I forget to say?

who put these tears on my pillow?

wear my rock bottoms like blood diamonds,

geodes to prop up the library 

you say is all lies. 

all your books are blank. 

get busy dying, just don’t drive after a stiff one. 

measure your time in how bearable your worst moments are to those you love, not one or two fingers. 

started sleeping with the courage to change the things I am,

hoping to get a little wiser instead of drunk. 

still can’t stand straight. 

gotta stand up for something, 

gotta be something to somebody,

maybe I’m somebody too. 

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