Thoughts, four weeks before rehab. |
It makes my feet wet Drinking Life I have webbed feet Like a mental eclipse I realise Be it in a room amongst friends or strangers It all comes down to the silent epoch My body is drenched in wine My bare back runs with the sweat of fermentation From my eyes Once blue Rain tears of alcoholic pain Someone once said to me; 'I knew it was a good party, I woke up and the carpet was gone' I woke up And I was gone A drink is like a kiss A delicious kiss from some tantric lover I wonder about wetness And kisses And demons The waky-shaky kind The kind between 100% proof tears First thing in the morning Needs not met Everything becomes silent And in that moment all selfishness is absolved I have roses dying in a vase I have a song dying upon my lip Candles dripping I am melting Red pen Red bills, eyes, glass bottom Plastered upon a wall are photographs All happy smiles I am plastered in every one of them A wall of smiles holds no pain Does it? Is not the greatest drink That of ice cold water the morning after? Is not the greatest journey the coming home? Sometimes the bottle is so heavy And my feet My back My heart Are so wet To wake to wetness in the morning Not so good Not so good |