Word is that some words don’t exist.
Maybe, it’s possible….or maybe I’m simply losing it.
All that I am, all that can be
fighting between drug-fueled dreams, and hectic realities.

Tell me, my dear, what is the time
the white rabbit has gone,
and I haven’t had the guts to follow
since I last read the rhyme

Or maybe it’s the twitch of the eye
a broken screen in the wind
I forgot what to say
what was meant to be a whim

Sleep, sleep, is but for a foolish game
drugs addled the mind, maybe, possibly
it was the alcohol all the same
ah the pain the pain

what is a beating heart to do?
when trouble is its mission
and a few bottles the witches brew
life is a bitch I tell you, it’s true

A bitch with puppies…a litter?
Lighter that which all I wonder to be
29 hours…maybe 33?
More than a day, less for some.

Oh but I am faithful, always to myself
life wasn’t worth living
off the crude bottom shelf
once upon a time, it seems, in a dream.

Till nothing is more
nothing is less
fuck the progress
I wasn’t made for the rest.