waiting on a call that never comes...

i'm not drinking to escape reality
but myself
i hate myself less
when i'm too drunk to realize
just what i have become

staging an imaginary conversation
for the people who AREN'T outside my window
is much more acceptable than
talking to myself

can't talk to real people
that would be a mistake

no one really wants to hear
about him,
and all the bad things he did

the truth is
this is all in my head
and can be easily ignored

fuck what you say,
i'm always right


at this moment i understand
bukowsi
better than ever before

that line
"some people will fuck a lamp post in the moonlight"?

i get it now

people just don't want to feel
alone

someone
something
has to pay attention

you need to hear this


i'm afraid of mirrors now

strange how such an innocuous
pane of glass
reflects all the bad things
i've learned to hide from myself

it's hard to reason with a reflection


this is not who i am
but where i am

anyone who hates their life
should easily understand

look!
did you see that?

it was life
passing me by


a song is a song
is a song

until you're drunk and depressed

than it becomes music
you'd like to have played
at your funeral


up
down
round and
round

i have no idea
which direction i should take
or what i
am being led to


life:
a chaotic mess
a shamble of broken dreams
and misplaced ideas

good intentions
left behind to pave a road
that no one ever travels

don't judge me for what
i should have been

look at me now

see the tiny cracks
in my armor against reality?

you did this to me


do poets dream?
look into my crystal bottle