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Dead Ends.
I drink,
and it's always too much in a world full of perfection.
Every fifth word I say is a curse,
every tenth is blastphemous
and I’m crazy enough to wonder why,
no matter how hard I grip,
life slips away.
I have passions
that flick on-and-off like a car indicator,
waiting for me to turn,
down some road
that ends with something dying,
usually in me.
I'm known to drink too much,
think to much,
kill gods with this pickled tongue,
but once in a while —
although, not very often —
it's all perfect.
© Ernist Lost-his-way
and it's always too much in a world full of perfection.
Every fifth word I say is a curse,
every tenth is blastphemous
and I’m crazy enough to wonder why,
no matter how hard I grip,
life slips away.
I have passions
that flick on-and-off like a car indicator,
waiting for me to turn,
down some road
that ends with something dying,
usually in me.
I'm known to drink too much,
think to much,
kill gods with this pickled tongue,
but once in a while —
although, not very often —
it's all perfect.
© Ernist Lost-his-way
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