Squid ink on paper, but no whiskey on my breath

I have yet to pop the cork

Of the fools’ slippery river of liquid luck

Which seeps rather than roll off a ducks tar clumped back

May the electric buzz from the bittersweet earth in my charcoal mug kill me first

Let the voices in my head howl

Howl until the moon becomes neon blue

The hairs on the back of my twitching neck vibrate

As the moon grows until the stars cower behind it

If I slur my thoughts with marshmallows in my mouth

Then it is a different cork I haven’t popped out of me

What holds in each knife of my vulnerability

Taking my eyes comfort zone closer to me

I cannot look someone in the eye

When I can’t look at myself happily in theirs

Seeing myself at such a raw level constantly

Embraces the air and water in each porous part of me

But I welcome that embrace far more

Than the illusion created by liquid luck

Give me caffeine, sweat, fear, anxiety

So that I can learn to explode organically

I may not protect myself from visceral emotion

As everyone around me ever does

But I can say that the hurricane aftermath is serene

Don’t worry about me, I won’t drown

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