Water tastes like whiskey
as it slides down to my lungs
and create a disease.
Sedating my emotions
but then somebody else controls me.

I'm not saying dreams are a medicine
but I do feel better
when I'm somewhere else
running with my bare feet
on the hills chasing feelings
rather than awake but stay still
on the bed with soul in my eyes
going down to my cheek
as I think about how death is just a penalty.

I don't know whether it's the lights
or your eyes
but my heart is snowing white.

Victory tastes sweet only on the day it is accomplished. But bitterness of defeat stays with it's subject forever.