stomach.

and there she goes again..

not without a sound or sighting,
yet no worries that my hand would wave goodbye.
no cold floor to lie upon from a hangover,
and no drunk moments that transcend actuality

well, the next beer won't talk too,
or the next cigarette did make me think..
sobriety expectedly seemed like mud writing this;
without the taste of hunger,
without the solemn solitude,
in the vat of consciousness of her disgrace
and phenomena..

soon i feel it creep into lethe,
thus like no other
she will be what i cant ask for more.

(the cello whines quite the soulful impurity)
here it is in peace at the edge of my cerebrum,
it sits still satisfied and unfulfilled,
silent and sacred:
"running wild & running blind
i breathe the body deep
a thousand years beside myself,
i do not sleep.."

of whether my wants or undesire might comprehend,
blessed am i
better than null and void,
a handful and maybe better than some.
perhaps,..is it because
we all have shed a gifted pair of wings?
fate does play a linear and warm trouble

for all i might want to know
simple, plain
sheer bad luck is my sense of comfort.

..and there she goes once more again.
i made a sober choice of being drunk,
now my stomach deviates from the milk
i just drank seven minutes ago.