Whiskey makes my bones shake,
And I’m having trouble typing.
‘Motivational’ wubs inspire poetry,
To be called great by idiots.
On this night,
I feel the dead gods in my blood,
Coursing like my .5% BAC.
There is no past,
On this night there is no compromise,
One more shot to remember the future.
A violence churns as I party alone.
A writer writes, infuriated by his subordinates.
He has no Medevac waiting for him,
Calling ‘Suppressing Fire!’ has no effect,
Except a stagger and a disorderly conduct.
Alone, this booze-fueled warrior, I, will fall.
Imagine the hangover?
Dcid Corvid 