Sober, dear perfection, you asshole, what is that?
Cleanliness? Free from blame? Ain’t sober people also dicks?
Is my habit, free flowing drinks that bad?
Do I/I know? Does/ did I know?
Should I?
Say yes or no? Shaken or stirred?
Am I shaken or dirt?
In goes the wine, over my parching lips, more that I want.
Is that All I want?
Yes and yes, light the taper right side up and light the smoke for my beautiful nostrils.
I am broken maybe, but I am honest about it.
That is differing side from sober, Mister perfect that absolutely ain’t missing it.
AAAAA I am repeating myself over and over, but I know that too.
It’s not like I dinna notice.
I do, I just don’t care, we all got our shades of red luscious passions, oh yes.
Mine is the luscious red and living in the past of yesteryear.
I Am Broken, but beautifully so, my souls patches do also mend. Not only when I am sober.
Magic isn’t free from dirt, it is with that dirt.
I Am fine again, I try at least.
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