you drank it all.
alone.

even though there's nothing left
in the bottle,
it is you that feels empty,
transparent,
frail,
like an eggshell that your mother found
in the chicken that your father killed,
that didn't have the chance of the frying pan at least.

you drank it all.
alone.
no Juliet around,
no Shakespeare
no talent,
no tale.

you drank it all.
alone.
no strippers,
no angels,
no thieves!

you drank it all.

some may call it
messianic delusion syndrome,
but I call it..
cheap Chardonnay.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbz9rIxZJBw

Cameras flashing in rapid succession
She’s reunited with the lights,
Descending from heavens above
She throws herself to the wolves
Wrestling crowds and wrist cuffs,
Drowning in the spotlight
As she’d always dreamed

I would paint a picture,
But it will be words coming out.

I would love and come to talk
But my mouth will zip,
by the time I even open the door.

I would be willing to express an emotion
But bring you a hanger,
so you can pull it out from my throat.

I would say I'd love to prove a point
But then forget what it was even for.

I would think there are many ways to go
But then walk on the same road.

I think I know what I would like to do next
But my brain has gone for a stroll.

.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                                    
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'