She was worth it.

The congregation of mourners
on the corner of obesity
next to the overslept days
and nights
and mornings
and afternoons
and nights again
With the jobs at that place that could take my hung over self and decrepit soul
that languished on the side of beauty
that men pined over in drunken stupors
at dive bars they had visited for ten plus years
but never saw an a*& as nice and young (in their drunkard state) as mine
so they could stick there horrid tales of ruptured disks and spines and spleens and minds and joints and live another day to let themselves into places other than me.
Yes, she was worth it.
Ever in excess alcoholic nights,
that I languished on the side of caution,
then bewilderment in the eyes of my colleagues the next morning.
She was worth it.

(this writing piece was someone else, I will be back soon)

The Enviable Truth

I feel too often we have to lie with our smiles and our words and say the truth with our eyes.

de·bauch·er·y

I have to make my voice a kind interruption
an invitation
a never overstep
a politeness unknown to me at the second
I may or more likely may very well know you too well
In the very midst,
Knowing what I don't know
Saying what I don't say
Doing what I never do
And then
Doing it all over again.
Just to live as you live better than me.