My weekend war starts on Friday nights
It's a war against myself, against my senses.
I only want to see the northern lights
That would be like fences
To protect me from my memories.
But intrinsically
It goes like this:
I drink until
I can't be drunk,
Drink myself sober.
I drink until
My stomach expands,
And everything is insubstantial
I drink until
It becomes too much
And I vomit
To tear,
(To forget you,)
To feel,
(To forget you)
To bust!
I hurl to the beat of my heart
Beating just for you.
I am drunk.
Guttural words express this
Forfeiture, devotion,
My hands aren't
Moving in time with my thoughts
And I can't even taste the burn
Widdling down my throat.
Time moves,
I'm stuck!
I hurl to the beat of my heart
Beating just for you.
I remember the taste of
The acid when it lines
My throat,
Erupts from stomach,
The way I salivate
And eyes splinter shut
Into slits-
I can see
No light!
I hurl to the beat of my heart
Beating just for you.
I like when I'm so fucked up
That I can't taste anything but the memory of you
And I was too fucked up to remember
And it was better that way.
probably wrote this about one year ago...
