I fill myself with poison
to try and forget that I'm imprisoned
by the voices and my choices
I fill myself with ink
so I can remember
that nothing stays clean
there is always something
that comes between me
and the pristine
and it's me
dancing in this flow of prose
I am a river, made up of whiskey, ink and conflict
slowly eroding my path through this harsh land
quickly building the barrier
with these drinks I use to bury her
No comments:
Post a Comment