If my breath smells of lager and bourbon

Does it mean I’ve become the burden?

I always wanted to be writing meaningless

Nonsense for anyone to read

To see me now would be what was expected

I guess

The Wednesday night whiskey drinking

Cigarette smoker all broken inside and

Still running away, I’ll never hide

Because to run is freedom and less

Of the jargon that comes with me…

The burden

Always with the ‘so it goes’ I don’t know

Maybe I’ve run out of words because

They’ve all been heard a million times

Before whenever you wake me on the floor

Surrounded by bottles because I think

I’m Bukowski surrounded by candles burning

The floor with the Joe Purdy seeping from

Electronic ears who can speak for me


– this drunk old bastard laying on the floor

Just run, but don’t hide – Mamma said stop running

But I think I’m just beginning

To lose my mind

In the best possible way

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