A drink. A sip. I sip you and you sink me. The empty bottle, is the saddest sight.

My father talked often, of what went wrong, who his father was, Who he is as a father, Long drawn out conversations,

She reminded me of women, I used to see as a child, at family gatherings. Tired, not quite steady,

Etched, in the valleys of the moon, staring from or to. Blazing the night, The autumn heat returns,

There’s not enough time, Not for seeing the world, no no But feeling alive, To hold your friend when they weep… For being in a hole,

Oh dreaded day, bring light! Nothing less than the beauty that you are, The whispers and winds in mind, Shackled, deranged, slightly mad,

We are like pebbles on a beach. Brought by the tide, yet not born from it. Sitting, and waiting,

You have to, jump in with the sharks. They won’t eat you, unless you let them. You dodge and dive,

To sin enough, is to sin forever, shine dull nor pure, but fear!, fear the end. Does it end after night, or at the end of the day!

It takes balls, hell, it takes every inch, to keep spinning. To talk of flowers, or the death,

I couldn’t think, of anything worse. From the outside, Looking in. Draining your soul away,

Wake to the sun on fire, a wandering wisp of a dream, In it’s forgotten desire, a candle… as a sonnet sings sentiment as bri… What is a plum situation,