fuck
i picked up a pen to write some poetry or some meaningful shit
I poured myself a glass of whisky
on the rocks
everything i wrote was shit
trite
contrived shit
then i just drank more
and more
and more
and now I'm fucking happy and depressed all at once
so how am I to write poetry now?

and all my friends are a big success
and here i am a drunk again

whisky though, is really a treat. I love it. My style is distinctive , I tell myself,
it won't be long before this is discovered and it makes its way in to the papers.

What I should say is that my mind sticks on the girl I work with whose body and beauty is just one long 9-5 tease, she wants me but what is to be done

drink son
drink on