Confucius say,
the deeper the tread on workboot,
the harder it is to remove dog ****.

I love seeing suicide survivors.

Like ****,
you **** at that too, huh?

I should be going to bed at 8:00,
so I start drinking as soon as I get home.
But the issue is
that I don't get drunk anymore
until about 10:00.

Maybe I'll start leaving work a few hours early.

Maybe I just gotta focus on getting it down faster.

Ahh, that sweet familiarity.
Effervescent glugs of flowing amber,
laminarity long forgotten
with this well-practiced wrist.

Some still spills,
occasionally.

Sop it up with a sleeve,
or one of the *** laden socks
on the ground.

Don't come here,
the door is locked and
the person within
is no longer
the person you remember.

Though he's always been here,
waiting to swim.

He floats atop the gallons of flowing amber
that I've been trying to drown him in.

Smiling his bitter smile,
bearing his knowing grin.

Nothing dries out a ***** faster
than having three monitors
and a light up keyboard.

Your edges are dithering,
contaminated with snow.

I can see through
you.

I'm losing something here,
as the days slink by.

I don't even feel
like myself,

not anymore.
Not now,
not here
in this paltry persistence.

Your edges are gaussian,
furred and blurred.

I can see through you.

It's just what
I've been looking for.
It's just what's right.

You'll fade and
I'll hate, all
over again. All
over again. All
over and
over again.

My eyes ain't
what they once were, sure, but
I can't see you
at all anymore.

Not because I'm blind,
you just happen to
tinct.
I'm not blind, you just
happen to
translucere,
one day you're just
gone.

I swear yesterday
You were right here.

You've darkled, and turned gossamer.
You pretty, pretty veil.
These days I guess that
I just don't see too well.