Iim filled to the brim of the bottle
Tital waves crash onto sheet rock
Representing and resenting tears
Once flowing thick like smooth rust
The stagnant smoke still lingers from the barel of the gun
Constantly coaxing the feeling of that empty chamber
Scribble scratch notes on bar napkins
Tapping my hand signing I need another shot
My pen ceases to work, I grab a Club keno pencil
The stigma that sunk in now roots itself to my nerves
Consistently diging deeper, paper cuts no longer are…
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Posted on April 4, 2009 at 7:29pm —
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