If you let the ******* get you down,
you deserve to be down.
It's that simple.
While the mad howl
into the void
of restless summer nights,
bad *******
sip cool drinks
in confident silence.
Bad *******
laugh when others weep,
feast when others hunger,
they **** long and deep
the angels others crave.
Bad ******* die
far more often,
worn from the continual fight,
broken by the drama
of never-ending
women.
In rebirth,
bad ******* learn
to wring out every last drop
of a whiskey flawed life.
Then and only then
do blood red skies,
that musky scent of wet ****,
or these typed words
have any real meaning
or significance.
Reflection.