you loved beer with an alcohol content more than your body could contain. he's lovely and you nudge him in the most delicate of ways because he's beautiful. you whisper the words you wanted to hear and he whispers back. you crawl up in your sheets and submerge yourself into your supernatural thoughts another brain deserves to hear. you walk in the most dangerous labyrinth of the island under the orange street lights thrusting up from the earth and still hear the humming birds eating biscuits dipped in yellow honey — it was gentle waves and light brown eyes tingeing its soft edges hands touching in the cold weather kind of safe. you end the night together with too much alcohol and red cheeks with a numb swollen feet but it's still what you wanted.

you went everywhere and you love it. he's a fictional varmint, too beautiful to be real, but he is. like how the shadows shifts from his small eyes down to your shoulder blades. everything about him and you were like carved on tablets and trees with names written on love letters. you love him because he's real, his rawness engulfs your soul and you know it, he's made for you and you were made for him because you've seen him without using your eyes, how your limbs would fill in the gaps and how the sound waves of your laughs will echo in the chambers of your organs.

you love wine and pour them every single morning and it tasted better than water but he's still the same and everything gets better and better like how your night lamp dimmed in reverse and in the worst of the worsts — a series of perpetual warfare and a great pertinacity of agony kind of worst — you still cling to the moment the Founder of the universe and all the elements of fate, time and space brought you to that day you met. in each accession of the most unfortunate circumstance, there is something that you wanted which makes you want to feel another mili second of tomorrow and another and another.

What am I
To a million people
Whose names are numbers
Waiting to be counted?

What am I
Other than a mispronounced name
And a character of no value
Who often becomes forgotten?

What am I
Aside from being a drunken thought
Whose name you scream
And whose heart wrenches at your drunken sight?

What am I
When I become frustrated
At how much I love you
But can't find the right words to say?

What am I
To you
When all I've ever been used to being
Is nothing?

Long tiring days,
Destination home,
Idyllic waistline,
Perfect head,
Must be frosty,
Delicious barley,
Always, makes the week worth it.

Ain't no hope for this restless soul.

My work is the only piece I find whole.

The rest of me I am yet to see.

The rest of me needs to get away from me.

My bitter past is holding me back.

Future needs to be fixed, stacked on a rack.

Maybe next year I'll find a better replacement of you.

Or I can start this year,  while my beers are still cold and new.

I was stumbling in a field.
Firelight in my eyes,
Burning bright red
in the camera lens.
It wasn't a trick of the light,
the drugs or the beer;
it was a glance of love.
I was stumbling in a field.
Red-eyed and smitten,
Crossing minefields to you by choice.
Perhaps that is the only way
to walk the course of love.

I went to the fridge
to get my beer
but oh dear
I spilled my beer
all over me
Mu sweet Bud
your odor I reek
So kiss my cheek
Get drunk with me.

His words are slow as
he tries to command
them into coherentness,
they're still slurred.

The lines are blurred,
like wet ink running
down on paper he's
messy messy messy

He says he loves me
the words come out
tangled but enthusiastic
there's no pain in them.

He says it again,
his heart must feel unguarded,
he must feel comfortable
to say it again without pause.

"Are you drunk?"  
yes, I'm very intoxicated.
That's to be expected this
**** ain't complicated.

Do I take advantage of
his drunkenness and
ask him to continue
saying  he loves me?

Or do I wait until he's dry,  
tell him I love him, expect
silence as my reply, and another
piece of my heart broken?

Because when he eventually
says it back, his voice will crack.
And I'll feel Guilty for
wanting to be loved like that.

It's not his fault, I'll say,
Everybody can't say it back.
Be patient, I'll remind myself.
I'll remind myself, I'll remind, remind

He only loves me when
he's inebriated. He's drunk
in love with me, how the hell
did this **** happen?

As I listen to him snore over
the phone, I know I'm in his
dreams. And maybe he's sober
when he says he loves me.

his eyes glared at my soul
wondering what dwells inside
or how it would shrivel
after the rigors of winter

his lungs and liver
were worn out
every after sky scrappers
were created

he walked everywhere
wearing his belief
that two people
are only meant to last
for a few bottles of beer
two shots of *****
and the human bodies
are not made for the long run

i'm building the walls higher
than it was since the last time
every time i realize
that this could be it
this could be the daydream
but could also be the nightmare

Stuck in a drinking rut
On a two week ******
Well actually
It's more like two decades
But I had to work the night shift
January 11th