I drink a sea of sweet cider,
Coating my blood in the thick happiness of a saint
I drink to feel the yoke of youth become lighter,
I drink to drown the portrait of pain that it paints,
I drink to become numb to the somber world around us
It sticks in my throat like an unspoken declaration of hate,
I drink to release the doves that long for the cessation of lust
And the sparrows that cry in the mystic visions of fate.
I drink to open the Mongolian God,
That whispers grass into the oppressive glow of the city,
I drink to cover the crumbling clay of life in a hopeful fog
That turns the dirt of daily sight into something somewhat pretty.
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 8:06 PM UTC