i called Jesus today to ask where He put my sweater
that was laying on the edge
of the brown armchair in the living room
but He hasn't called me back yet.

i'd like to think that maybe His phone died,
but i know He's ignoring me
because the phone rings twice
and then goes straight to voicemail.

i wonder if it's because i came home late last night
smelling like ash and whiskey.
He says He can taste how mixed up I am,
and calls me bitter
because i won't let Him kiss me on the mouth.

But i don't want him to know
that Sazerac tastes sweeter than His sermons,
even though it burns like hell.

He says i need to stop drinking, but He doesn't understand.
i need that fire in my throat. i need to be warm.
And He took my only sweater.

With each sip,
Your bitter lies
Become more evident.

But I'll bite my tounge
And as rust and whiskey mix
I'll take another sip.

The truth burns
On the way down
As I constantly swallow it.

This empty bottle is full
Of things I'll never say to you.

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.

Light up another cigarette,
It's all I do since you left,
Hold a gun to my head,
No promises were ever kept.

Finish off another whiskey bottle,
Around my neck a rope will throttle,
Time doesn't heal things,
I wish I had you here to sing.

I keep your notes locked away;
For when I miss you the next day,
I'll read your words and sing your songs,
Then spark up another ****.

So what if these things are killing me?
I'm dying everyday that you're not with me,
I wanted a future with you,
But now all we have is history.

Some gulp,
others sip.
So much lovely variety
to the lip.

Many the blend,
together wedged -
some smoothe to the tongue,
others hard edged.

As we do differ -
so doth the taste.
Without that difference,
too much waste.

Variety rules!
Husband or wife,
water or whisky -
contrast is life.

Sunshine in my glass
Simple and truthfull
Fiesty, full of sass
experienced, old, yet youthfull

Pleasing to the eye
Easing to the mind
A magnifying glass
To life, forth and hind

If savorly tasted
And properly paced
Your time shan't be wasted
And rid be your haste

You are blind

:To the way you look at me
With eyes of honey and whiskey
:To the way your smile breaks in through them,
Like the seeping sun through my windows unto my bed
:To the way I'm so hooked on you
You're like sweet ******* that's ******* good
:To the way my face is drunken-red
Each time I drink the thoughts that spill out your head
But once the drinking is over I know I will ache
And I know I'm going to hate the after taste