There is little to distract me at the moment.
It's two am. And I am drinking bourbon.
This is a recipe, and I am the Martha Stewart of ill-conceived notions.
A meticulously prepared undertaker of affection.
I could bake you ten cakes in twenty minutes filled with feelings of adulation.
But there's no one here to eat them. These temporal delicacies.
And I can smoke and drink all night long next to hoping,
My best fairweather friend.
Listening to Stevie Nicks spill her guts all over my frontal lobes,
Behind her, thoughts beckon, as to what I do in stead,
What I do after this. The proverbial “then what.”
I've probably felt more alone than this,
The reasons differ,
But not enough to matter.
Nothing about tonight feels especially successful.
This is an absolutely beautiful moment,
In which I have done nothing
My superpower, my kryptonite.
Always has been, always will be.
Since I was a kid and my dad told me to know better.
"Don't let those tears drag you all around town."
Daddy I am trying,
But sometimes life is so alone and I don't know what else to do.
There are babes I wish to kiss goodnight, that don't exist.
And if they did, they wouldn't know what to do either.
“Can the child within my heart rise above?”
Everything within me just wants to wait this out in the wake.
What's the point of sleeping through.
I crave something too great.
I want the ocean.
But all I have is this glass of whiskey.
And the sweet songs of a broken lady,
And what does she know.