find in my mind,
a place to sip my drink,
don't even think, let my anxiety sink,
and like ink,
let the red trickle down my throat
like Stevenson wrote,
" wine is bottled poetry ", so I read
the letters filling up my need
my eyes are closed, I feel such greed,
proceed ...
a Parliament is between my fingers
my desire lingers,
the glow lights my coffin nail,
I inhale,
and it fills my body like a plug
akin to my favourite drug,
I forget,
what it's like to sweat,
over the little things
I've grown these wings,
I'm bursting of power and drive,
this taste and this pull,
have given something fresh to life
some say death is near,
but it's already here,
I've witnessed my own crash
one hand I carry my blood
and in the other, my ash
