chasing your dreams with vodka

hi. nothing’s so pure as this feeling, my dear
the one where you’re staring at the bottom,
bottom. groomed by the bottle.

you weak as shit. drink more. drink till your lungs
give out— to breath, to life. to the concrete pavement
plan of tomorrow’s Latter Day Saints’ morale.

this will be a toast to the reckless,
the young, the free, the wild.
there’s a gaping hole in the horizon.
don’t wake up to see it.


For MaPoWriMo 2016.

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