I am trying to get into the habit
as loud as I can inside my head
when I first realize I am conscious.
whatever bad dreams I was having
“ain’t this a celebration? A party?
deserve a few good brawls?”
the story behind every scar
them men in the corner do.
with how dumb I once was.
With how innocent used to be.
How I could forget just how good
this tired thing can give.
And don’t this here laughing
sound a lot better than sobs.
don’t go too well with pickle juice
but damn if it don’t go down
But this is not about that.
Some things are holy enough
out drinking all my past selves
hoping they will not forget me.
If I am not living for that flash
that microsecond highlight reel
then who am I even living for?
as I knock back a glass of water:
to what ever the fuck this is.