Perhaps it was cowardice
that made me this brave.
I’m addicted to it now;
to courage in its liquid form.
The dry drag of depression
salts my tongue with sand.
My hands tremble in fear
when my teeth can’t clatter
around the hard A in alcohol.
So I drink my fill of courage.
Perhaps it is cowardice
that keeps me this brave.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
Perhaps it was cowardice
that made me this brave.
I’m addicted to it now;
to courage in its liquid form.
The dry drag of depression
salts my tongue with sand.
My hands tremble in fear
when my teeth can’t clatter
around the hard A in alcohol.
So I drink my fill of courage.
Perhaps it is cowardice
that keeps me this brave.
