You
The cold wind is sharp on my face,
I'm standing there,
sucking on a halls breezer
trying to rid the shots of vodka I agreed to take last night.
After all,
I am just human.
I must remind myself I am just human
by tearing my liver and life apart.
I could beg for the wind again if it meant it'd erase the fact that this vomit is the most warmth I've received in a moment.
I am panting like a dog, nails digging into dirt and grass like the earth would come up my arms and save me.
Is it not human to be this weak?
Knees aching from the unforgiving ground, I can see the stupid fucking strawberry-flavored f*ck floating in the stream of my own demise.
Tears mixed with bile and vodka
how sad the earth must be to feel men fall like this!
Tell me, friend, is it not like a man to be this weak?
To sob and want to be desired?
To want to be removed from the dirt and held into health?
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