Drunk

Title says it all, bitches. I had something else I was totally going to work on for this week, but the rhyme scheme was driving me nuts. It'll be up next week, I'm sure. Also, I've been drinking Bloody Marys all damn day. So suck it up. And enjoy sucking it up. Suckers.


Drunk

Whaddya want? Fuck, I'm drunk, you bitches
want a sonnet? It's Tuesday, yeah, I said
I'd keep a schedule. But right now, my head
feels like a foot. Each synapse twitches,
fails, and every thought - it fucking itches
just like herpes. I wish that I were dead
asleep right now. But you, for you, instead
I spin my lines, these blasted lines that fall
so easy from these tattered fingertips;
these words that never leave these tired lips,
they clatter from my hands. Are you enthralled
by this? Because Lord knows I'm in stitches.
Drunk as I am, foot-headed I may be,
but I can write this sonnet just for thee.


I love you all. Fuckers.

(sorry about the increased amount of cursing in the last few weeks.)