again,
not for the first time,
nor for the last time,
knowing this to be
merely a state of being
that will go on,
and on,
ad infinitum;
so pour another drink
my imaginary friend,
and let’s sit together
and talk about the past,
regaling each other
with memories
of who we once were
and who we used to be,
laughing and crying
all at the same time,
in the presence,
of good company.
and i want to be alone,
and i want to get drunk,
sopping, stupid, pissed drunk;
so that i’ll see double
the wings on my plate;
and i’ll not mind
the burning, outside my mouth;
and i’ll even sadistically enjoy
the fire soon to come;
and i’ll not notice
that i’m alone,
instead focusing only
on the close companionship
of greasy, spicy, wing flavored alcohol,
cause I don’t want to feel alone tonight.
practicing your poetry with perfect punctuations and no room for fluctuation built up your forces and your stations and your place where you play patron with your cut-out cardboard population needless to say your alone
(alone)
and your best friend is you
one the color red and one the color blue
and both are you
but which one is you you couldn’t guess who
might as well be self-absorbed
because everyone else either leaves or robs your grave when you are dead and to keep these thieves around requires you to play pretend and it’s such a lofty game that you just wish that it would end or be alone
(alone)
that’s the magic word of today
lone like a wolf with it’s predicessor a
lone like an alcohaulic
or god
alone like every word you say
sentences like their friends
the sieve and the sand 