Those Thoughts

How summer sparkles,

when there’s no sun to be seen.

Too scared to sleep or wake,

strapped in sweat-sodden sheets.

But for my radio –

stamping out the silence, stifling them below.


(Do you still hear,

those thoughts?

It’s the easy way out.

Reach out, for the vodka,


in the bottle; as low as your spirits.)


So cheers. To salvation,

through saturation. The anticipation,

of getting pissed.

Of passing out, for your sake:

to sleep and not to dream,

to dream and not to wake.

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