What do we do on the days?
Where breathing and thinking starts to feel
Like the biggest waste of time?
Where life itself starts feel like a poison
That we wish to sip as if it were wine.
Convincing ourselves that its bitter taste
Is better on the other side of glass
By the time we swallow the suffering.
In hopes of achieving this drunken state,
The blind happiness that we all so desire,
The feeling that it grants,
Which makes living feel worth it.
Empty cups, bottles of suffering
Turned cheerful with laughter
Numbed by the ability to not think
Just for at least a few hours.
What do we do on the days,
Where we do not wish to breathe,
Where we do not wish to think,
And not even a bottle of wine or a blunt
Can save us from being poured
Down the funnel of life’s sink?
We must find our own enjoyment in living,
We must drink & despite I know its worth,
It sometimes feel so cruel having to enjoy
This sip of poison.
