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My whole life is like — a jug crammed with hops, foam spilling over the rim. A moment of pretending to be grown-up, with a scrap of paper reading “For Dad.” A smile on the face hiding the mustard sting of life. Red Merino thick with dense smoke and the smell of **** — stings the eyes. Sweat drips down the filthy skin of other boozers, just like my father. Eyes slide downward. The mock-laughing woman with the gold tooth, with mock finesse, fills the jug with hops. A handful of coppers changes owners. The note is torn like a life. I see how the neighbor’s mutt barks at other people. Someone threw it a bone. The **** meadow is warm and colorful. I wish I could — stop time here. A moment of inattention — and the vessel cracks. Fear in my eyes. I know the leather belt with the metal buckle will lash across bones till they bleed. No one can help me.
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Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 10:25 PM UTC
bialy_bizon
Life's Ferment
My whole life is like — a jug crammed with hops, foam spilling over the rim. A moment of pretending to be grown-up, with a scrap of paper reading “For Dad.” A smile on the face hiding the mustard sting of life. Red Merino thick with dense smoke and the smell of **** — stings the eyes. Sweat drips down the filthy skin of other boozers, just like my father. Eyes slide downward. The mock-laughing woman with the gold tooth, with mock finesse, fills the jug with hops. A handful of coppers changes owners. The note is torn like a life. I see how the neighbor’s mutt barks at other people. Someone threw it a bone. The **** meadow is warm and colorful. I wish I could — stop time here. A moment of inattention — and the vessel cracks. Fear in my eyes. I know the leather belt with the metal buckle will lash across bones till they bleed. No one can help me.
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