Wake up with wine A glass at a time And at least three Puffs of Cuckoo Chi.
Before that I **** myself. Or, with luck, a PYT, Who promises me She’s on the pill.
And if not, Oh Well, I’m sure “Zanir” wasn’t her government name.
It took close to twenty-three years To shake off the agony of daytime. There was no place for me in the Systematic sunlight. Or, at least, Not one that I could see. But now
I’ve got a bottle, ½ full of optimistic Alcoholism. I manage the condition With a bit of cinnamon, spiced into Steel cut oats and W.A. Elderberries.
Admitting what you don’t understand While trusting that you know yourself Is the last, if not only, human freedom.
Social expectation & Psychic ambiguation.
Don’t take refuge in the familiar Without first hugging your weird.
Comfort traps aren’t new, Just the latest edition in: That’s How They Get You.
Seattle, WA. Episode One in an ongoing series. Also, it's 'nice' to be a morning person.