My daze, my days
So many Goddamn ways to approach this, to say what you see
Although, when you’re drunk, a delicious down-and-out, it can be hard enough to motivate your fine self to do as much
Down on your luck, smiling ever so hard but mesmerisingly so, out of touch
You say the words
Spill, spill… ’til everything around you starts, once more, to turn all too noticeably stale and messy
Albeit, at the exact same time, things remain eerily still
This, a mix of alcohol intake and Xanax pills
Worryingly so, you stumble, crack that lonely wine glass off the edge of your baby toe, barefooted,  barefaced
To all and sundry, it goes without saying, you’re a BLEEDING disgrace, portraying yourself to be nothing but an ordinary joe
Intoxicated, anticipating just how long it is that you might get away with staying this way, sedated
A typically, disdainfully false sense of elation
When no-one is nearby you still can’t help but feel, all owing to a crazy creative streak, like something of an overnight sensation
The portrait gets drawn
But it will hurt all the more, never less, when observers do nothing but observe, go so far as to equal your yawn
No more, no less
A blinding failure to impress
Yours, drink-related
Theirs, only ever professionally fixated upon your art
They will excuse you, of course, but happily, justifiably take, rake that so-called art apart

Share and Enjoy !

0Shares
0 0