I never quite knew, well maybe not knew but understand, why people only told the truth when they were drunk

i’m drunk..ish

maybe

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.

I failed…..FUCK

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

really…

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

I’m drunk

Fuck sundays, they reign in blood.

And tears, and I let them fall into my glass as I pour,

and 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.

Farewell….

and fuck you. You stupid bitch at the bottom of my glass.

9 glasses all sitting pretty in a row