The world is all beer can.
Glass towers made from yeast and tin
To be shot down by pellets from Redrider missiles of nickel and zinc
Followed with the laughter of boys with freckles.

They watch me fall from the shards as it cuts my fingers. They glide across the apex of crystal that is ethanol.

My breath hangs in your mouth as I exhaled it out.
I pulled my tongue out last night to say I love you. Now I'm swallowing it back. With a full gut.

I have borderline.

Between my pain and my plans. To follow the moths wing in the day to the river.
Or follow baby steps toward a shaky future.

Is this really my life? I wake up at night and know my reply.
Or life's aside.
It's shared.
The road forms a circle.
That circle is the spittle drinking around the mouth of the beer can.

Glass cuts the cords of fate.
As it falls with my severed hands.