As drunk as i am
and as sober as you are
we share the same love for grapes.
you prefer yours fresh from the fields
i like mine store-bought, seedless
you like yours sweet, a tad bit sour
i like mine for the lonely, sad, midnight hour
you eat yours for your health and body's sake
i drink mine cause im bruised and ****** yet,
you live your life with a smile so big i almost mistook it for the moon,
i let my bluebird out only once, usually alone at noon
though you're as big as they get, and im way too small
i find, in grapes at least,
we're not so different after all

bruising his eyes or breaking his nose will be the greatest pleasure in my life
...i think
you know sometimes i daydream about violence just to keep the devils at bay
i know, ironic
but i guess thats genetic
see my older brother gets it, he drowns his tendencies in alcohol and ****
and my mother gets it too, she drowns her sorrow in luxury and cash spending
what a sad, sad thing to do
deliberately drowning yourself in vices as if the air you breath pierce your lungs
and dont get me started on my father, he left the house so that he can be a free man again,  dont get it twisted though,
i love him like any other normal, generic son loves his dad but,
vivid memories of violent outrages are still circulating in and around my head like a sick, ******* carousel
man, thinking about that **** makes me wanna drown myself in absinthe