I feel as though I have choked something up tonight,
As though my bones are creaking back to life.
I feel as thought the mist is thinning
my eyes are clearer
my head's not pounding
the chattering mouths have ceased around me.
I feel as though my lungs can breath,
It's not an action forced by me;
There's cherry trees, their blossoms bobbing
my racing, weeping heart's stopped throbbing
that's not my chest that I feel sobbing

don't let me muse don't let me think
and quickly pass another drink

I lean over the toaster,
Cig clinging to chapped lip skin,
Tip brushing electric wire,
A burst of smoke, aha!
(My Mam stole my lighter.)
Instead of lovely nicotine
My fringe burns in front of me.
And I wish this was
A witty metaphor
For my ****** life,
A humorous illustration,
But instead it is
Just a woeful addition.

There's little in taking or giving,
  There's little in water or wine;
This living, this living, this living
  Was never a project of mine.
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is
  The gain of the one at the top,
For art is a form of catharsis,
  And love is a permanent flop,
And work is the province of cattle,
  And rest's for a clam in a shell,
So I'm thinking of throwing the battle--
  Would you kindly direct me to hell?

One query that I have today,
Is why do we look down to pray?
And when we wish, we raise our eyes
Heavenwards, beyond our skies?
This troubles me, and I'll explain:
Tis the principle that brings me pain.
In prayer, should we not face our Lord,
Positioned there to be adored?
And shouldn't shame lower our gaze
Towards the roaring souls ablaze,
Crushed beneath the Devil's dancing,
Should we not face him in fancy?

But I've been told otherwise!
Past and present, I protest,
And he sneers.
What makes me so,
I query?
And he relents but says instead I'm just

nothing special

And the harsh slap of mediocrity stings
My greatest fear
To be
That nothing person
Face in the crowd person
The deadly sea of in between

What is left to forget?
The searing trial of my regret
Softened its grip on my mind
With each passing glass of wine.
At fortunes mercy, alas
I'm compelled to fill my glass.
Come clairvoyant, read my palm?
To prevent the spilling of your yarn
I'll hand you a cup of ****
-My dear, what will come of this?
I'm saving your credibility
You'd be a fool not to see
That my futures tainted red,
As my kidneys slowly bled.
He at blame, he turned around
And told me that I should slow down.
Pray tell then dear, what should I do?
Live by the needle, just like you?

Hang me from the Heavens, tell
All pray God to save my soul
But half; for evil is not whole
And send the rest to Hell.