I wish to be drunk
If only to taste the lips
of an empty bottle

[there is no form here]

Laughing distantly
from the other room
Quiet inner-sobbing

[there's no one left]

Not sure if you
believe it, not sure
if I do.

[just move on, it's so much easier]

Slogging through mud
I've clearly lost my shoes
Bare skin settles deep

[what's left in this for you, for me]

Silence is consent
And I am ne'er hell-bent
Fashion-forward
Shoehorned selections
Kindling nethers to get attention
I am the sincerest form of flattery

[breaking tradition now//self-created]

Giving myself too much credit
Failing for son of the year
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