Druken Poetry
Well, I went out last night with some friends and had quite a bit of vodka. I've been kind of annoyed, because I haven't been able to write anything for awhile. I felt my muse had abandoned me. Anyway, I was sitting at a booth when I found some old receipts in my purse and started writing. Here's the result, as best as I could decipher. (Drunk handwriting is hard to read.) Enjoy! Where is this winter that froze my soul Words freely coming and away they go I can’t focus them all This free association; can barely make out the letters Let them cry out, can’t ignore them Here they go Here we go And there we were Lost in time Nothing right Nothing wrong Words come streaming from my pen. Who knows where they are going Or where they will end Oh god what are we doing here? Freely forming poetry Completely disconnected All alone, but not alone Together in our isolation What will come from this, this joining Of so many parts? What will the whole be Apart from nothingness You once led to the edge of the abyss What will the morning show Once we’ve cleared this mist? The blank page calling My drunken state freeing All the words I’ve been holding back The pain, the joy, secrets, What to do with them? How to present them? What will the sun show? What truths will the morning bring? I can’t keep up, they come too fast No more Editor, he took the night off. To hell with him, he only held me back.
Well, I went out last night with some friends and had quite a bit of vodka. I've been kind of annoyed, because I haven't been able to write anything for awhile. I felt my muse had abandoned me. Anyway, I was sitting at a booth when I found some old receipts in my purse and started writing. Here's the result, as best as I could decipher. (Drunk handwriting is hard to read.) Enjoy! Where is this winter that froze my soul Words freely coming and away they go I can’t focus them all This free association; can barely make out the letters Let them cry out, can’t ignore them Here they go Here we go And there we were Lost in time Nothing right Nothing wrong Words come streaming from my pen. Who knows where they are going Or where they will end Oh god what are we doing here? Freely forming poetry Completely disconnected All alone, but not alone Together in our isolation What will come from this, this joining Of so many parts? What will the whole be Apart from nothingness You once led to the edge of the abyss What will the morning show Once we’ve cleared this mist? The blank page calling My drunken state freeing All the words I’ve been holding back The pain, the joy, secrets, What to do with them? How to present them? What will the sun show? What truths will the morning bring? I can’t keep up, they come too fast No more Editor, he took the night off. To hell with him, he only held me back.