(writing drunk poems)
Misery loves company?
Well my misery dont need any
more company, tonight.
Not when I have a room filled
with stained-glass wine bottles
that likes to round their full lips of
seduction and whisper,
'There wont be anymore grief tonight baby
I promise, just reach the bottom.'
Which are bolded Lies, I wasn’t able
to figure out, until much too late.
Already too close to the edge to begin
I start to scramble to be -lips to lips-
To fall inside the womanly shaped bottle,
to circle lazy butterfly strokes and swam
in the chaotic point at her center.
I am a maelstrom with two arms to stir me
careless, because I am only half a star.
Half a moon, tonight.
If misery is for company
than Merlot is for the Nightowls,
Even if we do ended up with a taste of bitter
grapes bubbling like a cauldron in our stomachs.
Even if I do put my clenched hand
through green window pane when I remember
grief lies, as I swam alone in the empty glass
looking for an
e s c a p e.
Or my other star because I am becoming
delirious at how bloody fists
metaphorically looks a lot like bleeding hearts.