I never quite knew, well maybe not knew but understand, why people only told the truth when they were drunk
i took pills
mixed them with bottom shelf vodka
and i’m sure it isn’t the world leaning
but my inability to stand up.
Amazing how accurate my writing is,
no typos, not grammatical issues
that would leave my professors squirming in disaproval
7 glasses, 8.
no more than 5-6 shots,
but it’s bottom shelf.
Along with the music.
I broke my heart.
the bottle is my friend tonight, good thing it’s pretty.
Trashed, but hyperfocused ,to get the writing down
break the world moment, scientificaly speaking,
I have nothing
nothing, but booze, and oj and I’m fine
cash in my pocket would be fine, and some sorry.
But like the black girl who considered suicide when the rainbow wasn’t enough
i’m tired of sorry.
So no I’m not sorry
Fuck sundays, they reign in blood.
And tears, and I let them fall into my glass as I pour,
wishing the splashing liquid was my blood…
tonight should not exist.
I cheer to death, with all my heart,
cheers to the inevitable, I just wish we didn’t have to part.
and fuck you. You stupid bitch at the bottom of my glass.
9 glasses all sitting pretty in a row