This is no more than
My end

I cannot quite recall
The last time I held a pen
In sober fingers
The turbulence of sorrow infested fire water
Does wonders for the too-stable mind

I spill my entrails to you all
In the shape of my past and present
Because these drunken hands can no longer put the puzzle of the future together
It's a mind game
But I have every corner piece
Just a little hollow inside

Sobriety only brings fourth critical analysis
It takes a stumble and a smile to be a poet
To understand
So let's get drunk together
Wether it's the words that captivate you
Or the numb nostalgia of
1   2   many