this is a war.

excuse me soldier, all honorably decorated with your lethal blue eyes...

...please remove the bullets from my head.
get the explosives out of my chest.

sleep.

slumbertime my love.
together by 23.
pillows shared through our wonder years.
as the reception finish, three loud cheers.
I love(d) you.

white rice rainstorms shining today.
the groom and wife's smile are there to stay.
slumbertime my love.

it's real.

sometimes I wear this hat on my head.
but most the time my hair just looks greasy.
sometimes I wear briefs.
but most the time I hang loose.

sometimes I forget where I am.
sometimes I forget what I want to do in life.
but all of the time, I know I love this lady.

in the town.

here you'll find self imposed suicide hookers.
born again faith addicts, only to falter to their coke snorting cock-sucking ways.

here you'll find the freshest of the crop.
the new and willing, the eager and naively innocent...waiting to be harvested amongst a field of crows nests and ravens.

this is the same place you will find a washed up old bum with something to prove.
an attitude to further his current social stereotype, a pungent waste of oxygen.

you will also be so lucky to find the genuine young fellow, who has yet to get the point.
he will repeat, repeat, repeat his selfish actions.

you can also find places to shit.
only to find that these are the same places you frequently dine.

in the town you will find faggots, niggers, hippies, honkeys, tweekers, dropouts, lawyers and scum...whores and pigs. Rats, has-beens, pussies and docs...animals amongst the zoo in town.

failure to think on my own behalf has kept me here.
goodbye catalyst.

this is the town I live in.
you we're once a part of it too.

swig.

Shots on me!
Shots of this so called life.
Maybe it looks like Midori, green like the tropical fruits and trees.
Perhaps the shot looks like some blood red concoction of Raspberry pucker, sweet, but violent red vomit will follow.

I don't know where I'm going with these descriptions of fairytale cocktails, maybe in the direction of life being like different drinks. Eventually, you'll end up on the floor either vomiting, choking on blood, or quivering with a bodyfull of heartache and mind-wrenching thoughts.

Shit happens.
I'll pick up my six string in a time of need.
And I will write about the girl I truly love, so none of the above happens to me.