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To drink or not to drink?
That is the daily question that plagues my mind and body....
But not my soul.
See my soul is soulfully pure and poetic when my contaminated brain releases control.
That then allows my heart to cry out what it really wants to say.
Pushing poison purposefully through the veins in my arms that bleeds out through the ink pen I hold onto so tightly.
Using it to cast spells on all those who might be
like me
likely
to have one foot in reality and one in a dreamers paradise.
Wicked witch of the poetic west,
but only when I feel my best.
That is why I need that drink.
Without it is to be without me.
I just don't feel like myself...
Free...
Instead I am a mere shell of my desired self.
Handcuffed to a desk from nine to five.
Replacing bar wings with school lunch trays,
Sobriety breeding anxiety on A days and B days.
The school nurse is rather cute, but she's still not my bartender or waitress.
It's funny how after drink three is the only time I develop any patience.
So believe me when I say I can't wait til the weekend.
Drown these school bells out with the clinking of shot glasses until I go off the deep end.
Which is okay because what goes down must come up
or at least it does in my mind.
But damn, it's only Monday so i guess I've got plenty of time.....
To Wait...
Where the F*** did my summer go?
