Constantly Drunk
 
I’m drinking to forget memories and remember feelings,
I’m drinking to touch Death and feel alive.
in every brimful lowball of bourbon lie truths untold,
in every bottle of overproof rum hide beauty unworldly.
it makes wrong feel right, and right feel wrong.
after every drink, my words turn stronger and more truthful,
my thoughts become clearer the blurrier my mind turns.
I see things differently, I view people under different prisms.
I accept more bullshit, but I’m also more prone to call it.
it takes at least six drinks before you can discern your true friends.
it takes ten drinks to make new friends.
within the drunken haze, I can see if I’m in love, infatuated, or simply lonely.
while lost in the mist of intoxication, I decipher ideas and desires,
turning them all into lost poems or actions my sober self would never dream of.
whenever I’m asked “why do you drink?” I always say
“I can give you a list with a thousand reasons. the real question is,
why are you so damn afraid of drinking?”
and when you’re confronting a teetotaler, the real answer’s
always the same, no matter what bullshit they feed you:
“I’m afraid of my real self.”